Swimming With Sharks
by OughtaKnowBetter
Summary: Mutant X meets shark mutants, and it ain't all fun in the sun on the island, folks. Set in season two. Complete story.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: many of the characteristics of sharks in this story are accurate, but several I've taken liberty with for literary purposes. This is a story that has haunted me ever since being chased out of the water by a shark and I'm glad to finally exorcise it. Hope you like it--this story will be long! And the usual: characters all theirs, not mine, no money etc.

Swimming With Sharks

by OughtaKnowBetter

Adam Kane leaned back in his chair, observing the large screen in front of him. He was well aware of the pair of mutants behind him. One was perched—but just barely—on the counter top, a spot where she could easily hop off and leap to whichever corner of the room required leaping to. Blonde curls danced along her shoulders, deep brown eyes nevertheless taking in the information that was being presented by the talking head on the screen. Her partner was more sedate: seated in a comfortable chair similar to her mentor's, legs crossed, a serious expression on her face as she struggled to keep up with the discussion between two cutting edge geneticists. Adam wrestled a small smile into submission; the flood of data flowing in would be enough to send a sane man crying to his room. Adam himself was instructing the computer to save the file for further perusal—after he finished talking with Dr. Martha Morrison, civilian researcher for an unnamed branch of the armed forces, he would be reviewing said file for any item of interest that he'd missed during their conversation.

Adam snorted. 'Unnamed branch of the armed forces' meant 'covert operations'. It didn't matter which branch; at a certain level they all tended to merge into one, in Adam's mind. Personally, he tended to shy away from such groups as they seemed to need to hold entirely too much control over the outcomes of the research. Adam himself wanted to go where the research led, not be constrained by the realities of life in politics. Not always the most sensible of directions but one that suited his particular brand of ethics.

"Feral research," Dr. Morrison's screen image said, "with an emphasis on marine life." _Hm. Naval covert operations?_ _Maybe. But each branch seemed to need their own capabilities on land, sea, and air. No division of labor there_. "As you can see, I've had a fair amount of success fusing shark DNA with human. The results have been astonishing, Adam."

"I can see," Adam agreed. "According to your figures, they can swim farther and faster than any normal person could hope to. And stay underwater longer."

"They can stay underwater indefinitely," Morrison corrected him excitedly. "Adam, I've achieved the dream of marine biologists everywhere: I've been able to graft a working set of gills onto these people! Do you know what that means?"

"I do, Martha," Adam told her. "This will open up new methods of research, new opportunities for studying the ocean—"

"Adam, we can create whole new environments for mankind!" Morrison's eyes took on a gleam of their own. "We can colonize the sea!"

"Possibly," Adam agreed, significantly less enthusiastic. "But let's not go too fast, Martha. I know you; you called me up for a reason. What is it?"

But Dr. Morrison's eyebrows raised: a question. She could see Shalimar and Emma behind him. _Should they be here?_

The side of Adam's smile quirked upward. "They work with me, Martha. I vouch for them completely."

Morrison considered, and gave in without a struggle. "Even if they knew about the project, their knowledge would be useless without the hard data about techniques."

"Just so." Adam gestured. "Go on."

Morrison shrugged. _So be it_. "I've successfully applied these techniques to several volunteers. The results have been amazing, to say the least." She switched the screen to an ocean scene, herself as the voice-over.

There were four men, all in the prime of their lives, swimming in the ocean, cavorting with small fish. Their agility was remarkable, twisting and turning in pursuit of the finny creatures—and catching them. Hands darted out in a flash, snagging a fish and dragging it in, only to be released into the school for a re-capture. Shalimar's eyebrows raised; _mutants, huh? Feral, for a fact_. Only a feral could demonstrate such antics above or below sea level. Shalimar found the tip of one foot twitching with shared excitement, and angrily commanded it to stop.

"These men have been at this for over an hour, with no ill effects," said Morrison's disembodied voice. "You can see the results. They are entirely at home in this liquid environment." The camera dollied in for a closer look. "Each subject has received the DNA of a different species of shark: blue, great white, tiger, and the like. Attempts at using older species of sharks have been unsuccessful. Observe the number of gill flaps: five, consistent with the more modern shark varieties. Those species with six or seven gill flaps have not yielded good results. Rejection takes place.

"For those here, and others like them, the condition of each has been improved. They are healthier, faster, stronger and overall better than any of the soldiers on the base; in fact, they've taken over their share of the guard duties and base chores when I don't need them in the lab. It is impossible to tell normal from mutant at a distance; however, close up is a different story." The camera angle switched to an extreme close up of one subject's pectorals. Emma leaned forward. There was something _wrong_ about the skin on the man's chest. He was hairless, the skin glistening smooth, the better to knife through the waters with. But it had an odd texture, almost—

"Not scales, but close to it," Morrison lectured. "Extremely similar to a shark's skin: rough and abrasive. I accidentally rubbed up against one of my subjects the other day and ended up with scratches along the entire length of my arm. Each of my subjects has developed this skin type, and it has proved extremely successful in the harsher ocean environment. It protects them from cold, from sharp objects; it's even difficult to penetrate. I haven't tried it out yet, but one theory that I'm toying with says that their skin may be impervious to a bullet at fifty yards. Certainly useful in the armed forces."

"You're right, there," Adam agreed. "But Martha, there's a reason that you've called me. You're not the type to ring up and old friend just to crow over your successes. What's the problem?"

The voice stopped. The screen returned to the men cavorting in the water, slicing through the waves. It wasn't normal swimming, Shalimar realized. Each man used a side to side motion, reminiscent of the sharks that they had received DNA from. It somehow made the men look less human; more threatening. These were men designed to evoke fear in others.

"You always could see through me, Adam." The screen finally flipped back over to the researcher. She was older than Adam, or least, looked it. Short gray hair framed a face with lines on it, the blue eyes bright with intelligence—and worry. "Yes, there are problems. I'm not certain I can get the mutation to stick. There is a small glitch in the results that throw the whole design into question, and there are some behavior issues; nothing too serious yet, but enough that I'd appreciate an independent view of things. Can you help?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Adam allowed the grin to color his voice. Shalimar too grinned; the man was a fanatic when it came to genetics and could no more give up a problem in science than a moth could give up a flame. "I can be there in—"

"The military will be sending a chopper for you, Adam," Morrison interrupted. "You know how they are; want to keep the base location a secret."

Adam nodded, never allowing the smile to depart from his face. _As well he should_, Shalimar smirked. _Once there, the base location would no longer be a secret from Mutant X_. "I'll be ready. Oh, and I'll be bringing some of my associates with me." He indicated the pair behind him. "And a couple more. They'll be useful, I assure you."

Morrison needed more reassurance. "Adam—"

"Trust me on this, Martha. They're my team."

"All right," Morrison sighed. "I'll convince the base colonel somehow. Be ready at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow." She signed off.

Adam leaned back in his chair. "This should be fun, even for you four. A vacation, and heaven knows you deserve it. Where ever it is, that base is located on a tropical island. It should have beaches, fresh air, and, being military, someone else to do the cooking and cleaning…"

Emma rose. Shalimar noted that the empath looked less than ecstatic, trying for a game face. "I'll get my things. I have a phone call to make."

"Emma?" Adam suddenly remembered. "Emma, wait. You were going to friend's this week end, weren't you?"

"It's all right, Adam. I can reschedule."

"No, it's not all right," Adam scowled. "As I recall, you haven't seen this person for three years."

"Adam—"

"Emma, I am not going to ruin your plans," Adam told her. "We can get along without you this once. This is a vacation for you, after all. Keep your date with your friend. If this thing runs longer than I expect, you can come out and join us in the Helix."

Emma relaxed in relief. "Okay. Thanks, Adam. I haven't seen Julie in a very long time, and if I miss her this time, it might be another three years before I get another chance."

Adam echoed her smile, then turned to Shalimar. "Tell the guys to pack. We've got a plane to catch."

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"Be careful with that equipment," Adam directed the four men in uniform. "It's delicate, and spare parts are several hours away."

"Yes, sir." The man turned to another. "Give me a hand here, corporal. Two men per crate. Let's not drop anything. We'll put it in Dr. Morrison's lab, sir?"

"Thank you." Adam hadn't heard so many 'sirs' in years. It almost made him uncomfortable. The enlisted men hadn't let him lift a finger, hadn't let Brennan near the chopper controls, hadn't let Jesse near the stowage—and Adam's precious cargo!—and had treated Shalimar like a fragile glass sculpture that would shatter if handled too roughly. _If only they knew…_ But Adam knew better than to try to buck the mindset of the military. Sometimes the best way to accomplish things was to work within the system. He swallowed his protests and let the soldiers do their work the best way they knew how.

On the other hand, several more bodies made the workload a lot lighter. Adam paused to look around, stretching after the long flight: heat rose in waves off the landing pad, the sun beating down with the relentless cloak of the tropics. The rotors of the chopper slowly twirled to a stop, and the breeze that had been generated drifted away. Adam was suddenly glad that he'd packed an extra bottle of sun tan lotion. Not for himself, but for the others, certain that one or more hadn't bothered. Adam himself expected to spend most of his time in Dr. Morrison's lab, but as for his team? Shalimar alone would happily spend the entire jaunt traipsing through the jungle that surrounded the base and covered all three of the mountains that comprised this island paradise. Several hundred yards away the ocean lapped at white beach sand, and a half-dozen off-duty soldiers were taking advantage of it by playing an impromptu game of beach volley ball. Adam grinned; within twenty-four hours, there would be another team of Mulwray and Kilmartin challenging the soldiers for domination. It wouldn't be an easy contest; some of the bare-chested men looked bigger than Brennan and just as fit. And certainly more tan. _Advantage of not living in a cave_…

There were several flat buildings along the edge of the landing strip. Adam had no trouble identifying the barracks where the enlisted men stayed and where the mess hall had been erected. The odor of cooking meat wafted in their direction, and Adam caught sight of Shalimar sniffing the air, her acute senses identifying the mystery meat that would serve as this evening's meal. Another flat building looked like it housed larger quarters where the officers stayed, and there was another for the administrative offices.

The last building was located on the water's edge, a large pier having been built off the back end enabling Dr. Morrison easy access to the ocean. Adam approved; if science was going to use shark DNA, then testing in the ocean was the most sensible option. _Why build a swimming pool when you had the largest one at your doorstep with a cleaning team of bottom feeding fish thrown in?_

One of the enlisted men, a long and lean soldier in a tee and fatigues, picked up Shalimar's luggage, waving off her protests. "I'll show you to your quarters, miss."

Shalimar gave the soldier an odd look. There was something different about him. She tested the air; yes, his scent was not normal. His skin had a faint blue tinge to it, an unusual texture—"You're one of them," she exclaimed.

The soldier colored, the blue replaced by an embarrassed blush. "Yes, miss. Private Tyler, ma'am. But mostly they call me Blue."

Adam nodded, overhearing the conversation. "You received the DNA of the blue shark."

"Yes, sir." Blue acknowledged the accuracy of Adam's guess. "Been one of us for 'bout three months now. 'm one of the 'older' guys." He hefted another bag easily, one that one of the 'normal' soldiers had worked hard to lift. "This way, miss, sirs."

Shalimar fell into step beside him. "Then you're a feral."

"Yes, miss." Blue gave her a sideways glance. "You a scientist? Miss?" he tacked on.

Shalimar rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Let's just say that, like yourself, I'm a product of better living through chemistry." Except for the fact that Blue had both hands full of luggage, Shalimar would have stuck out her hand for a shake. "Shalimar Fox. Feral, like you."

Blue looked puzzled. "Pardon, miss, but you don't seem like any mutant around here."

"Mammalian," Shalimar said by way of an explanation. She allowed her eyes to go cat golden, shifting back with a smile.

It registered. Blue acknowledged a fellow mutant; he caused his own eyes to take on the round blackness of the shark that he was patterned after. And then he swiftly altered back to human, careful not to let anyone else see the transformation.

Shalimar stifled a shiver. Her own mammalian mutation was close to human, but Blue's was piscine. There was no warmth there, nothing to latch onto. He looked like a cold predator, hunting for his next meal.

Then it was gone, and the young soldier was back beside her, escorting the lady to her quarters.

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"How many are there?" Adam asked, leaning over the table to talk with Dr. Morrison. The other three hovered in the background, idly looking around them and trying to identify the equipment they saw. It wasn't easy. Some of the equipment looked identical to what Adam had back at Sanctuary, and a lot of that was categorized as 'Adam's stuff' rather than having a name. Or, if a particular piece did have a name, it was usually more along the lines of 'that expletive-deleted piece of expletive-deleted'. And the name was frequently conferred immediately after unpleasant usage on a reluctant mutant.

This place appeared more like a lab than the clinic setting that Adam favored. Sure, there were three stretchers that looked a lot less comfortable than the ones that Sanctuary had, but all around were counters of bubbling beakers and computers that were chugging away at genetic simulations. Those Jesse found more interesting, peering at the computer console and wondering if he'd get the opportunity to touch.

"Twenty-six, currently," Morrison replied. "Twenty-three males, and three females. I've decided to put a halt to creating any more until I've resolved the problems. We used to have thirty, but four were killed in action. You remember hearing about a hostage situation last year in the Mediterranean, a cruise ship with several thousand innocents aboard?"

Adam nodded. "And a crew of several hundred more. The media reported that our navy sent in a team to defuse the situation. They were very successful; only two of the terrorists killed. All the hostages rescued, no other loss of life."

Morrison thinned her lips. "The media wasn't given all the details. Ever wonder how the team managed to board the ship without being detected?"

"After seeing your operation here, not any more. The terrorists would have seen a boat approaching. Your people didn't need boats."

"That's right. A team of five—my original five subjects—were sent out as a test of our work here. Two were great whites, one blue, and two tiger shark. Only the blue returned. The two terrorists who were killed set off an explosion when they realized that their mission was going down the tubes, and took four of my test subjects with them. But the rest of the ship was saved, and the military decided to use it as 'evidence' of our military prowess. They considered the mission a success, and gave me the go-ahead to expand the project and create more subjects." Morrison nodded at the scribblings on the blackboard. "I did. And I got better at it."

"Tell me about the mutation," Adam requested. "We met one of them outside."

"Yes, they've been mixing with the other soldiers on base." Morrison warmed to her subject. "Adam, they're the perfect super-soldier! They're stronger than any normal man, able to use shark senses on both land and sea, and can survive—no, thrive!—in the ocean indefinitely. They are an amphibious assault team unmatched by anything we currently have!"

"Think of the possibilities!" chimed in an enthusiastic deep voice. Adam and the others turned around to see an officer saunter in. He extended a welcoming hand. "Colonel Bayliss, commander of this base. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kane."

"Likewise." Adam shook the man's hand, assessing. Bayliss seemed a man who had climbed the chain of command on merit, one who took himself and his responsibilities seriously. He kept himself fit, and it looked like he kept his mind sharp. "My team: Shalimar Fox, Brennan Mulwray, Jesse Kilmartin."

"Welcome to Base Forty Three A." Bayliss chuckled. "Not a particularly creative name, but definitely good for keeping under the radar, which is what our project excels at, as Dr. Morrison has been telling you. That hostage situation is only one of the possibilities, the one that you're most likely to have heard about. There have been a few others, less publicized. Our people back at the Pentagon are already devising scenarios for our new soldiers. I'm glad that you and your team could give us a hand, Dr. Kane. Dr. Morrison speaks very highly of you."

"She's very kind," Adam demurred. "If we could get on with the briefing?"

"Of course." Bayliss turned to the aide that had followed him in. "Lieutenant, I think we need one of the subjects in here to take a gander at. Nothing like a hands-on demonstration. Go out and grab whichever one you come across first."

"Yes, sir. I think I saw Private Tyler outside."

"Just the one. Go get him. He's the oldest now, and one of the most difficult to deal with. We can use this as a training session while we're at it. Martha, give Dr. Kane and his people the lowdown." Bayliss settled himself onto a stool to listen—and chime in.

They were coming to the heart of the matter. Adam relaxed onto his chair, waiting for Dr. Morrison to collect her thoughts, sensing more than seeing his team follow his example.

"There are two major problems with the current project," Dr. Morrison began, easing automatically into lecture mode, "no, actually, three, but the third is of minor importance. The first and greatest problem stems from the fact that all of my test subjects have undergone incubation with various species of shark DNA. They have received many of the shark attributes, including increased strength and the ability to live in the ocean, but they also have acquired some of the faults."

"Such as?" Adam prompted, when Dr. Morrison didn't continue fast enough.

Dr. Morrison back-pedaled. "How much do you know about sharks?"

"Only what I learned in undergraduate school," Adam replied. "Go on."

"Hey, wait a minute," Jesse put in from behind. "I double-majored in computer science and business. This shark stuff is beyond me; I picked up everything I know from badly written cartoons. Tell me about sharks."

Dr. Morrison obliged. "In a nutshell: cold-blooded fish, cartilaginous bones, gills to breathe through, and are widely regarded as the most efficient predators in the sea."

"Hey, aren't they supposed to be able to smell a drop of blood a mile away?" Brennan asked.

"Yes and no." Dr. Morrison grinned, the first sincere smile they'd seen from her yet. "They can smell fish blood from a distance, but tend to ignore other types of blood such as human. They use many different senses for locating their prey: the sense of smell, sight, they can sense vibrations in the water, and finally—and most germane to this discussion—they can sense the electrical field that every living creature emits. This is what helps them to track down and capture their prey. That, along with a mouthful of a lot of teeth."

"Yeah, lots of teeth," murmured someone quietly.

Morrison ignored the peanut gallery. "Which leads me to the biggest problem with my test subjects as soldiers. They are superior to ordinary men in every way but one."

"Which is—?" Adam pushed.

"Ampullae of Lorenzii," Morrison said.

The three New Mutants looked at her blankly, but Adam nodded. He had guessed correctly. "Like sharks, your test subjects react adversely to minute electrical fields."

"Exactly. On the commercial market there are so-called 'shark sticks' that produce a mild electrical jolt; a cattle prod for sharks, if you will. One zap with that, either in the water or on land, and the shark mutant collapses for a matter of minutes to hours, depending on the severity of the shock." Morrison sighed. "Their Achilles' heel. You or I could stick our hand into an electrical outlet and say 'ouch'. My test subjects would be down for hours if they tried that."

"All the opposition has to do is arm themselves with a few cattle prods and our super soldiers turn into the catch of the day," Bayliss added gloomily. "Think you can help with that, Dr. Kane?"

Adam blinked. "Good question. I won't know the answer to that until I've had a chance to do some research." He turned back to Dr. Morrison. "Martha, you said there was more than one problem. What's next?"

"Aggressive behavior," she said promptly. "In the wild, sharks are only aggressive when pursuing prey or establishing dominance in a pack. Well fed, with enough individual territory, sharks tend to be far more gentle than people give them credit for. The chance of being attacked by a shark is far less than being hit by lightning."

"Speak for yourself," murmured someone from Brennan's direction.

"But your mutants?" Jesse asked, pushing for more information and ignoring his fellow team member.

"Difficult, surly, angry," Bayliss took up the tale. "My men have started working in groups, just so that they're certain of having someone at their back whenever the sharkies are around. There have only been a few minor incidents so far, but the handwriting is on the wall. Mark my words; if we don't do something about it now there will be bloodshed, and when that happens, a soldier is going to die. No normal man can keep up with a shark." He tapped his side. The others noticed a short stick that Bayliss wore at his belt, remembered seeing that his aide carried one as well. "A cattle prod, set to stun. All my officers have one and some of the non-coms, too. Just in case."

"Have you had to use it?"

"Once. A non-com drew his as well. One of the tiger sharks was threatening an enlisted man." Bayliss grimaced. "The non-com broke it up before blood could be spilled. We were lucky. The sharkies backed off for a time after that, but they're getting rowdy again. We need 'em controlled, Dr. Kane. That's our second problem. And it's a big one. If we don't solve that one, we can scrap the whole program. We can't have a soldier that doesn't obey orders."

Something didn't make sense to Shalimar. She had been escorted to the lab by Blue, one of the oldest of the 'sharkies', and the man had been a perfect gentleman. There had been no hint of anger, no sense of uncontrolled rage. Nothing like what Colonel Bayliss was describing. "Maybe it's just a few of them?" she suggested.

The reply was interrupted by the aide returning with Private Tyler, as well as a few reinforcements, all of whom were carrying the cattle prods that Bayliss had spoken of. The atmosphere instantly became more tense, Private Tyler seeming to drag it in with him. Shalimar wondered if she needed to rethink her evaluation of the shark mutant.

Adam tried to defuse the tension. He didn't understand it, but he did know that such anger would interfere with his ability to research and problem-solve, therefore he was willing to do what he could. Long experience had taught him that mutant cooperation was a good thing. "Private Tyler, thank you for joining us. Dr. Morrison tells me that you were one of her earliest successes?"

"Yes, sir." Blue's eyes hadn't gone feral-black, but were still as cold and as deadly as his namesake shark. He kept his hands at his side, his fingers deliberately relaxed. "Me and four others. The rest are newer to this life."

"Yes, I heard about that," Adam murmured. "I was sorry to hear that it went so badly for you."

Blue flicked those cold eyes at Adam, startled. Then he straightened out, put himself back at attention. "Thank you, sir."

"May I ask you a few questions?"

Another start, this one better hidden. Clearly Blue wasn't used to such consideration from those looking at his mutation. "That's what I'm here for, sir," Blue replied carefully.

Adam chose to take the statement at face value. "I understand that you now have gills. They work well for you?"

"Yes, sir."

"When you submerge, is it a conscious effort on your part to use them?"

"No, sir."

"Does it feel natural, or is there a period of acclimation before they start to provide you with oxygen?"

"No, sir."

It went on and on like that, Adam asking questions and receiving short yes/no answers. It wasn't quite pulling teeth, but Adam could see that he had something less than a willing subject. No matter; Adam had all the time in the world even if Shalimar, Brennan, and Jesse were squirming on uncomfortable stools, watching him work.

"Your skin," Adam finally asked, "I understand that it's similar to a shark's? Rough and protects you from the elements better than before?"

"Yes, sir," Blue started to say, when Bayliss interrupted him.

"Let's get on with this, Dr. Kane! Examine the shark, and be done with it. Strip, private."

"Sir?" Blue's face was wooden.

"You heard me, soldier. Strip down to your skivvies and let the doc take a look at you. You've done it often enough in this room. I shouldn't have to tell you twice."

The other soldiers in the room came to alert. More than one hand went to a cattle prod hanging from a belt. One leaned forward, watching and waiting.

Blue's ears flamed. He swallowed the anger, choked down the humiliation. Shalimar ached with sympathy but to interfere would only make it worse. Blue fumbled with his desert tan tee shirt, pulling it up and over his head and dropping it neatly across a nearby counter. His dog tags jingled quietly against his smooth and hairless chest. In the bright clinic light they could all see the blue-silvery almost-scales that covered him, thick muscles nestled beneath. On his face the scales were so tiny as to mimic true skin but there, on his pectorals, there was no such camouflage. It was not human. _Blue_ was no longerhuman.

Morrison moved in, taking the private's cap off of his head and draping it over his tee without so much as a please or thank you. "Private Tyler and the others had full heads of hair prior to treatment," she lectured, bending the private's head down to demonstrate to her guests. "One showed evidence of early male pattern balding, but the rest needed regular haircuts to maintain regulation length. As soon as the initial treatment was completed, Private Tyler and the others began to shave their heads as Olympic swimmers do in order to improve their speed in the water. Shortly thereafter I noted that the male pattern balding was significantly more pronounced in all of them. When the three females were likewise subjected to the treatment, they also began to lose their hair." Morrison rubbed Blue's thinning scalp. "The skin is softer here, less rough compared to the chest and other parts of the body, but does show evidence of mutation. Here, feel this, Adam." Morrison took Adam's hand to guide him. Blue suffered the indignity in silence, his gaze fixed to the blank wall in front of him.

Morrison wasn't finished. "You can tell that the musculature is mutating as well, Adam. The pectorals here, the abdominus rectus, all increasing in size and strength." Morrison poked at the muscles in question, her actions strictly clinical. She could have been judging a pet dog in a show ring for all the attention she paid to the person in front of her.

Adam stepped around. "Martha, he's been mutated for three months and actively swimming for much of that time. His increased muscle mass could be from working out." He hesitated before touching. "May I?"

"Go ahead. Sir," Blue tacked on, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. But all of Mutant X could hear the undertones: _doesn't matter what I want, does it?_

Adam palpated the muscles from insertion point to attachment. "You clearly have a well-developed set of musculature, but as I said, that could be from exercise—"

"Then look at the muscles in his legs, Kane," Bayliss broke in. "Look at those muscles, and tell me it's not from the mutation! Drop the pants, soldier. Drop 'em, I said."

"Yes, sir." The words came out almost strangled. Shalimar had to look away, gratified to see that her teammates felt as embarrassed as she did on the fellow mutant's behalf.

"I don't think that's necessary—" Adam started to say.

"Nonsense! Drop 'em, soldier. Kick off those boots and let the doctor take a look at you. Look at those muscles, Kane!" Bayliss ran his own hand down Blue's thigh. Shalimar was reminded of a horse trader extolling the virtues of his wares. "Tell me those are from swimming!"

Adam dodged the question. "No steroids, Martha?"

"There was, at first. It helped with the adaptation, to avoid rejection of the shark DNA. But I was able to taper it off after three days. Not enough steroids to alter the musculature. This is all mutation."

Shalimar really hoped that the skin that Morrison and Bayliss were raving about also protected Blue from the cold, because the man had to be getting chilled, standing there before them clad in nothing but his briefs. She bit her lip, wondering how to stop this farce. Adam never treated any of his patients this callously! This was one of Bayliss's own men!

"More to show you," Bayliss went on, oblivious to the mutant's distress. "Get on the stretcher, Tyler. Want to show you this, Kane."

"Sir." _Don't make me do this, sir._

"Table. Now, private!" Bayliss's voice cracked like a whip. More hands went to their prods.

Shalimar could follow Blue's thoughts along with the flicker of his eyes: the window was no escape. It was covered in inch-thick bars. Two officers stood in front of the door, cattle prods in their hands. That was no way out, either.

"Lie down on the stretcher, soldier."

There was no choice. Face stony, Blue hoisted himself onto the waist high stretcher and swung his legs up. He swallowed hard.

"Lie down." There was no mistaking the threat in Bayliss's voice this time. The colonel took hold of Blue's shoulder to force him all the way down.

Blue went down, not because the colonel could make him physically but because the other option included use of the prods in the officers' hands. He struggled a bit; the position was clearly uncomfortable for him. His breathing quickened.

"Here, little lady." Bayliss enlisted Shalimar's aid, dragging her to the side of the stretcher. Shalimar carefully avoided looking Blue in the face, unwilling to witness the man's discomfort and humiliation. "Rub his gut."

"What?" Of all the things the colonel could have asked for, Shalimar had not expected this.

"Rub his belly, like a dog. See what happens." Bayliss took Shalimar's wrist, dragged her hand across Blue's abdomen.

Here the mutated skin was softer than Shalimar would have thought, the scales smaller and more delicate. Earlier she had brushed up against the man's arm and had drawn a drop or two of blood from the sandpaper-like flesh. But on the abdomen the texture was softer, almost leathery. _A place to protect when fighting_, a small part of her said. Her hand glided smoothly across Tyler's belly.

But the effect on Blue was as startling as it was instantaneous. The man went limp, his breathing slowing to almost nothing, his limbs going slack. As one, the officers relaxed their grips on their cattle prods. They were obviously well-used to this result, that the shark mutant could be neutralized when placed on his back and belly massaged. Only Blue's eyes betrayed the anguish that he felt. Everything was flaccid; everything, that is, except for a growing bulge under his skivvies. A non-com snickered. Blue flushed.

"Interesting," Adam said, the undertone making it clear that he'd seen enough. "You can let him up now, Shalimar. Why don't you get dressed, Private? I'm sure that anything more I need will be in the data that Dr. Morrison has collected."

"Nonsense, doc. There's a lot more." Bayliss lifted Blue's strengthless arm up over his head, the mutant helpless to object, his mutant body betraying him while lying on his back. "Gills, doc. Look at 'em."

Despite himself, Adam was fascinated. Five gill slits were tucked under Blue's armpit, ideally placed to protect the delicate structures from harm. They were motionless now, unneeded on land. Adam made a mental note to see if there was underwater footage of the gills in action, convinced that Morrison would have done so.

"That's not all, Adam," Morrison added. "Look at his eyes." Again oblivious to her subject's discomfort, Dr. Morrison pulled down Blue's lower eyelid. "Nictating membrane, just like a shark's. Everyone of them has it. They can raise that second eyelid at will to protect their eyes just before an attack. Or during a dust storm, if they're sent to a desert region."

"Show him the jaws," Bayliss urged. "A regular monster from the deep, that's what I told them at the Pentagon. Show him the jaws, doc."

"This is what gives the mutants much of their power," Morrison agreed. "I'm so pleased that I was able to carry over those mutations into the test subjects. Observe: sharks have the ability to unhinge their jaws and protrude them in order to seize their prey. These mutants have the same characteristics, along with several rows of teeth." Morrison placed her fingers to either side of Blue's face, manipulating the bones where the jaw met the skull. Blue couldn't help the groan that escaped, but Dr. Morrison ignored him.

The shark mutant's jaw unhinged, just as Morrison had described, the upper and lower teeth emerging like an outtake from Jaws. It was true: there were at least three rows of serrated teeth, and Shalimar wouldn't swear that there weren't more behind that, ready to jump into place.

"Don't put your fingers in," Morrison cautioned. "He's helpless like this, but these jaws will automatically snap shut as soon as the quieting stimulus is removed. I use a solid metal barrier to prevent accidents when I'm working with them. Keep rubbing at him, Ms. Fox. Keep him limp, so no one gets hurt."

"I can see why." Adam kept his own fingers carefully out of the way. "Can we let him up now? I'm sure he's had enough."

Bayliss frowned. "Squeamish, doc?" he started to say, but Shalimar had already stopped the manipulation that kept Blue subdued, helping the man to sit up.

That interested Adam more. "Your color is getting better now that you're sitting up," he noted, watching Private Tyler carefully. "You look like lying down is difficult for you. How do you feel?"

"Fine, sir." A little too fast, and a little too false. It was the sound of someone who felt that he had something to hide.

Adam chose not to pursue it, not in front of the man's commanding officer. _Emphasis on command_, he thought wryly. _One of the reasons I chose not to join up. I have a terrible history at following orders. Hear that, Mason?_ "I appreciate your coming in," he only said.

"There's one thing more that I want to show you," Colonel Bayliss said casually, picking up a stick of wood large enough to qualify as a baseball bat. There were several of them lying in a corner, tough hunks of lumber left over from some building project. Adam wouldn't have been surprised to see the same chunks used in the frame of the mess hall. But Bayliss hefted the impromptu club—and abruptly swung it at Blue.

In retrospect, Adam wished for a slow motion camera to give credence to what he saw: the wood swinging at the shark mutant. Shark jaws opening and jutting out, savage teeth glistening. The wood chomped into two. And Blue spitting out a few left over splinters, a look of disgust on his face at the taste of the wood.

"That," Bayliss said with evident satisfaction, "is why I like this project." He grinned at Adam. "Tell me a dog face who's willing to face that in battle!"


	2. Shark 2

The beach was great. Not just 'oh, how pretty' but absolutely _wonderful_. The sand was white and hot beneath their bare feet, and Brennan was glad to be able to put down a blanket and stand on it for a moment before setting up alow chair on which to sit. Shalimar plunked down beside him, already pulling out the sun block for her fair skin.

"We've been to some nice places," she observed, "but this ranks up there with the nicest."

"Um," Brennan agreed, looking out over the clear blue-green water, the waves lapping in onto the shore. "Got to get Adam to have more friends in places like these." He grinned, mischief sparking his eyes. "Poor Jess. Has to help in the lab instead of lying on the sand. Comes from being a computer nerd. That'll teach him."

"We'll get him out here. Him, and Adam too. They're both too pale," Shalimar promised, looking up as a shadow fell upon the blanket. It was another one of the shark mutants, a tiger shark by the look of the faint stripes across his back. "Hi, there. This is a really nice place for a base camp. I could get used to this real easy."

"What are you doing here?" There was no welcome in the mutant soldier's voice.

Obviously they had done something wrong, but Brennan couldn't figure out what. He blinked. "I'm sorry; is this beach off-limits? There weren't any signs posted."

"This is _our_ side," the tiger shark growled. "You've got the rest of the island, lubber; you've penned us in. Where the hell do you want us to go? Or maybe you like swimming with the sharks? Got one of those rods handy?"

Shalimar put up her hands. "Hey, back off, buddy. Honest mistake. You don't want us here, we're leaving. Right, Brennan?"

"Right," Brennan started to say when Blue dashed up.

"Miss Fox! Mulwray!" He turned to the tiger shark. "It's okay, Danzig; stay deep. These are the guys I was telling you about, the ones that came in yesterday."

"They're not sharks," Danzig insisted.

"No, but they're mutants, Danzig. They understand, them and the scientist guy that Morrison called in. Take it deep."

"Him." Danzig indicated Brennan, pointing a finger. The menacing air grew more vicious.

"Yeah, I know. But the lieutenant'll get it sorted out. Go deep, Danzig." Blue stepped in front of the big tiger shark, his own bulk dwarfed by the larger man. Teeth glinted briefly. "Take it deep. Now. The lieutenant'll handle this," he repeated. It didn't matter that Blue was a private, and Danzig with more chevrons on his sleeve. Blue didn't back down.

Nictating membranes flipped over blackened round eyes, then slid back into hiding. The menace receded but just barely. Danzig stepped away. "You better be right about this, Blue."

"I will be," Blue promised.

With a final glare, Danzig took himself down to the shoreline and dove into an oncoming wave, the gesture clean and knife-like. There was no sign of the shark-mutant after that, nothing to say that he had ever been on the beach with Shalimar and Brennan except for the leftover adrenaline that Brennan felt. "What was that?" he asked. "What did we do? This beach off-limits or something?"

"Something like that." Blue helped them pick up the blanket and shake out the sand. Brennan folded up his chair, still puzzled.

"Well?" Shalimar wasn't about to let it go without an explanation.

Blue sighed. "This is shark territory."

"We got that. Loud and clear."

Another sigh. Blue shrugged, deciding to come clean. "You've figured out by now that relations between us and the lubbers aren't too cordial."

"'Lubbers'?"

"Land-lubbers," Blue elucidated. "They call us sharkies, we call them lubbers. Behind their backs, of course. Most of the time. When we aren't calling each other something worse."  
"And this beach?"

Blue jerked his thumb out at the waves. "You can't see it, but there's a fence out there to keep us in. Keep us from straying too far from the island."

"A fence," Brennan repeated. "How far out?"

"A couple miles or so. Not a real fence," Blue elaborated. "Not one made out of stone or wire. But it might as well be a real fence, for all the good that it does us. Bayliss's people strung up an electric field about five miles out. We have enough territory to feed—just barely—but we can't leave this island. No shore leave, no sight-seeing in the underwater caves around the reefs ten miles out on the shoal. Hell, we can't even go to the next island ten miles away. 'Scuse the language, Miss Fox," he added.

Shalimar moved in on the important part of the discussion. "So they don't trust you to stick around? Afraid you'll swim off and never be seen again?"

"Something like that." It was the first grin they'd seen from Blue today. "Believe me, there are a bunch of us who think that's a pretty decent idea. Sure, there's a few sixteen-footers out in those waves, but they wouldn't bother us much. Bayliss keeps saying the fence is to protect us from the Great Whites, but those of us on this side of the fence have our doubts. We know better." He finished helping Shalimar fold the beach blanket. "Why don't I show you a better spot? One where there aren't any of us shark types to get riled? Trust me, miss, on a pebble like this with only four women and one of 'em Dr. Morrison and the others sharks, there are a whole bunch of soldiers who'd appreciate the sight of you sunning yourself in plain view. You'll have tongues hanging, if you don't mind my saying so."

"You're trying to get rid of us," Brennan observed, "and your friend with the attitude had a real problem with me. Not with us in general; me, in particular. Care to explain?"

"You got it all wrong—"

"Blue," Shalimar said gently, "we're mutants, too. You've been dealing with the attitude for six months. Brennan and I have put up with it for years. Your corporal was ready to go for Brennan's throat. Why?"

"Danzig wouldn't—"

Shalimar cocked her head. Brennan merely folded his arms. They didn't say a word. They didn't have to.

Blue had the grace to blush. He grimaced. "Don't take this the wrong way—"

"Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you if it's the wrong way."

"It's you," Blue blurted out.

"Me?" Brennan was taken aback. "What did I do? I never met any of you before yesterday."

"It's not what you did." Blue cast around for a way to explain without offending. It wasn't coming. "It's what you are."

"I'm a mutant. Look around, buddy. So are you, and so are your friends. You've all got bright and shiny new DNA."

"Yeah, but you're electrical." Blue looked around, searching the blue ocean for the right words. "Man, you _glow_!"

"I glow?"

"Why, Brennan, you dog! I had no idea," Shalimar teased. "You glow."

"It's hard to describe." Blue hurried on. "You gotta understand, we sharks got senses that you have no idea about. We _see_ electrical fields. It's like you being able to somehow sense something. You won't really get it, you're not sharks, but—"

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Shalimar put in, allowing her eyes to dance briefly feral. "Friend shark."

"Oh. Right." Blue looked back at Brennan. "You really don't see it?"

"Nope." Brennan turned to Shalimar. "You?"

"Not like Blue says," Shalimar allowed. "I mean, everyone has a little different—well, I guess you could say _flavor_. Yours tends to be almost sharp, but _I _sense people in terms of their scent. It's just you. Emma and Jesse each have a different flavor. It's how I can tell who's who in the dark." She grinned at Blue. "Sounds like each type of feral has their own way of sensing."

"This is all great, home week for mutant ferals, but what does that have to do with the attitude?" Brennan asked, getting back to the original problem.

Shalimar had already made the connection. "Brennan, it's because you're a walking shark stick."

"What? I am not."

"'Fraid you are, sir," Blue admitted, dropping into the automatic fear pose: eyes carefully downcast, not challenging. Not here, not on dry land, not with other soldiers around all armed with guns and shark sticks. Blue wasn't about to challenge anyone; not under these circumstances. "Fact is, to our way of lookin' at things, you're the most dangerous man on this rock for us."

"But, I—" Brennan stopped. He looked straight at Blue. "You think Bayliss brought me in to keep you mutants in line. You're all scared of me."

Blue lifted his chin. "Every damn one of us felt you step onto this hunk of dirt, Mulwray. You've got a field that could cover a football stadium, and it's a pretty good bet that you could take me out just by shaking my hand. Damn right we're scared."

"All right: news flash." Brennan leaned over. "Number one, Bayliss didn't know that Adam was bringing us along until we stepped out of the chopper. Number two: as far as I know, Bayliss still doesn't know that we're mutants. We're just part of Adam's team that he brought along. And number three: that set of dental work in your mouth is sending some pretty hefty shivers up and down my spine, enough so that I'm going to be thinking twice about surfing these waters. You cool now?" He stuck out his hand.

Blue eyed the proffered gesture. "Yeah. Maybe. But if it's all the same to you, I'll skip the handshake." He indicated the beach in front of them. Several soldiers—the non-mutant type—were already casting appreciative gazes at Shalimar, clearly hoping for a closer look. "You go ahead and enjoy. I've got work to do."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Anything look promising?" Dr. Morrison came up behind Adam, watching him peer into the microscope, adjusting the dials for a better view. Behind them the computers were spinning frantically, trying to keep up with Adam's ideas, and several test tubes had various colored liquids bubbling and threatening to overflow. "I realize it's early, but is anything jumping out at you? Anything I've missed?"

Adam didn't look up. "As far as the electrical sensitivity, no. That's a basic part of shark anatomy, and so far I don't see any way to eliminate it from the DNA transfer. I'm not even certain that's a good idea. Lose the electrical sensitivity, and you lose the ability to zero in on your target. Giving that up would be very difficult for the mutants, Martha. It might be better to simply accept it as their Achilles' heel."

"That's what I was afraid you were going to say," the scientist sighed. "It's what I've been telling Colonel Bayliss all along, and he hasn't wanted to give up. A flaw like that might doom the project."

"I wouldn't think so, Martha," Adam replied, lifting his head from the scope. "Look at the hostage mission. It was successful, despite the loss of life. With more training, your shark mutants can carry out those sorts of missions and be very valuable. The rest of us deal with our short-comings; there's no reason why they can't as well."

"The goal is a super-soldier," Morrison reminded him. "A soldier like we've envisioned could eliminate a lot of global terrorism. We need a way to compensate for that flaw," she insisted.

"Any way to maybe turnthe sensitivityoff and on? Use it during the hunt, and then some sort of ground fault interrupter that they can put on during the contact part of a mission?" Jesse piped up from his place in front of the computer. He'd already input Adam's data and was waiting for the thinking machine to spit out the answer, wishing that he had Sanctuary's faster models.

Dr. Morrison looked at the molecular as if the computer had suddenly acquired a vocal interface. "What do you mean?"

"Yes." Adam got a great deal more interested. "You may have something there, Jesse. Keep talking."

Jesse leaned forward on his stool. "I've listened to you both talk all morning about the inherent electrical abilities in these mutants, and it doesn't sound like either of you are going anywhere with it. Adam, I keep going back to things that you've taught us, to use tools when Nature doesn't give us what we need. We use crutches when legs don't work, we use bags to carry a lot of things that we can't hold onto all at once; using tools is part of us. Why not part of them? Don't mess with their sense of electricity, give them a way around it. Channel the electricity away from them."

"Hm." Two brains sprang into over drive. "That might work. If we give them a wiring network to put on, something that would provide a safe passage for the electrons—"

"Yes." Morrison too was getting excited. "That sounds like a ground fault interrupter. A slender net, something to be worn under clothing. It would have to be impervious to salt water, would have to be silent. No clanking chains to give them away for a quiet approach."

"There would need to be a hood as well, to protect the brain," Adam added. "Flexible, but strong. It could even add protection against projectile weapons, like chain mail armor."

"How soon to come up with a prototype?" Morrison mused. "We'd need supplies from the mainland, lots of steel links, maybe requisition someone with armorer experience. Wonder if they have anyone like that, or if we'll have to go to the local Renaissance Festival to find someone?"

"We won't need that much for a prototype," Adam interrupted. "What we need first is evidence that it will work. We can come up with a few wires and fashion them into a glove. Ask for a volunteer to get tapped on the wrist, and we'll have an answer as to whether or not it's feasible. Plan?"

"Plan," Morrison agreed. "I'll tell Colonel Bayliss to requisition the supplies that we need for a wrist model, and we can get started right away." She paused. "How about the other problem? The aggression? I'm not thrilled about armoring these mutants before learning how to control their homicidal impulses. You saw Private Tyler this morning. If we hadn't had him in a submissive posture, he would have torn out our throats."

"Yes, well, we have to talk about that, Martha," Adam said uncomfortably.

That flew past the scientist. "You have a way to solve it, Adam?"

"Maybe." Adam looked away. "I think there may be some pretty sensible ways to deal with it. Something that everyone can do, that won't take much in the way of resources but that everyone will have to buy into."

"Buy into? Adam, you're talking like a psychologist. Or a Human Resource specialist. Can you solve this aggression problem or not?"

"Yes, I can," Adam replied bluntly, biting the proverbial bullet. "Martha, there's no more inherent aggression in those mutants than there is in any of us. They're simply reacting to how they're being treated."

Morrison's face darkened. Jesse held his breath.

"Martha, this morning you and Colonel Bayliss treated Private Tyler as though he were something less than human. And from the looks of things, it's been going on for a long time. He was expecting to be treated that way. What have you been doing to those men? Those mutants?"

"Nothing that you haven't done yourself, Adam," Morrison insisted. "Look at the data I've collected! These are volunteers; they offered to be in this program."

"But they didn't volunteer to be treated like lab rats," Adam responded. "When was the last time you were forced to take off your clothes in front of a bunch of strangers, Martha?"

Unaccountably, the woman flushed. She darted an uncomfortable glance at Jesse sitting quietly in the corner. "That was a long time ago, Adam. It's not fair for you to bring it up."

"And it's not fair for you to treat those men in that fashion, either. You, or Colonel Bayliss," Adam insisted. "Treat them with courtesy and respect, and you'll get the soldiers that you want; soldiers that will truly volunteer to undertake dangerous missions and come back with victory. Assuming that this situation is not too far gone."

"You're putting the blame on me."

"Not only you, but your Colonel Bayliss as well. Those are his men, Martha. He needs to have more respect for them."

"You don't understand—" she started to say.

"Really? Enlighten me."

Morrison regained some of her composure. "The first group, the first five. You met Private Tyler, the one with the blue shark DNA."

"That's right." Adam kept his arms folded. Jesse sat quietly in the background, soaking up the information.

"There were five of them," Morrison told them. "Two Great Whites, two tiger sharks, and Private Tyler. My first group. They looked good. The hostage situation came up, and the decision was made to try them out. It was our first big test here at Base Forty Three A. A success would mean more funding from the Pentagon."

"And it was a success," Adam said quietly. "The hostages were rescued."

"But four of the men never returned."

"What went wrong?" Jesse couldn't keep from asking.

"What Private Tyler said was that the terrorists blew themselves up with our people. Everyone was lost into the depths of the ocean. Not one body was recovered, and Tyler told us that he spent an hour or two looking. He thought that perhaps the local sharks in the area—hammerheads frequent that particular part of the world—had gotten to the bodies before he could. He was pretty shaken up."

"I can imagine. But you think…?" Adam left the question open.

"I'm not sure what to think, Adam." Morrison sank back onto her stool, looking down at the tiled floor. "I'd hate to think that he lied to me. But, even back then, there were murmurings from them that they wanted to live in the ocean. That staying on Base wasn't good enough for them."

"You don't think they were killed."

Morrison bit her lip. "Let's just say I'm not certain. I haven't seen any of the four since then. And shortly after that was when Colonel Bayliss ordered construction of the electronic barrier. He said it was to prevent any unwanted sharks and ocean competitors to get our people."

"But…?"

Morrison pulled herself together. "Adam, my job is to produce a shark mutant with the desired attributes that will protect not only him but this country. How to use those mutants to the best advantage is not something I have expertise in."

"That's for certain," Jesse murmured, too quietly for the woman to hear.

Adam threw him a sharp look. "Short-sighted, Martha. That's the cause of your aggression problem. It's nothing that genetics can solve. You need a good Human Resources manager." There was no amusement in his voice. "Are you planning on creating any more shark mutants? You said that you were suspending new subjects until you could get the problems worked out."

"That's one of the problems," Morrison admitted. "No more volunteers, and even Colonel Bayliss hasn't been able to recruit any. All the soldiers on this base were originally scheduled to be mutated. This was to be a training ground for the finest and more elite task forces known to mankind."

"And now?"

"They've all backed out," Morrison said ruefully. "There's such a gap between the two groups that neither wants anything to do with the other. Only military discipline is keeping everything from being flushed down the toilet, which is the only reason that Colonel Bayliss let me bring you in. Once his superiors hear how bad morale is, the colonel will be replaced and the project canned." She looked up, and Jesse was amazed to see tears in her eyes. "You're my last hope, Adam. Tell me what to do."

Adam rubbed his hands together, thinking. "Who's the ranking officer among the mutants?"

"Lieutenant Vanderworthy. A great white."

"Stop thinking of him in terms of his mutated DNA," Adam ordered. "Think of him as an officer in this man's armed forces. A person. Where is he?"

There was a spark of hope in Morrison's eye. She didn't know what Adam was planning, but she had faith in him. She'd worked with Dr. Kane before, knew the miracles he could produce. "I don't know. Probably in Shark's Cove."

"Have someone find him, get him over here. No," and Adam stopped himself, "Jesse, I need you. Find Lt. Vanderworthy and give him this message: that Drs. Morrison and Kane would appreciate his assistance at his earliest convenience. Make it clear that compliance is his choice. Got that?"

"Got it." The sideways grin on Jesse's face indicated his whole-hearted approval.

"I'll get some soldiers to accompany him," Morrison said.

"No. Jesse goes alone."

"But, Adam," and Morrison was truly worried, "the situation—"

"Jesse can take care of himself," Adam assured her.

"Against normal men, probably, as long as they don't gang up on him. But these are shark mutants—"

"Martha," and Adam took her by the shoulders, "calm down. Jesse can take care of himself. He's been doing it for years."

"A shark bite—"

Adam turned to Jesse and asked with great deliberation, "Which do you think is stronger? A shark's jaw, or a three inch thick rod of diamond hard material?"

"We just may find out." And Jesse exited the clinic, whistling merrily off-key.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The dour looks he was now collecting, Brennan decided, were entirely justified. Out of the thirty soldiers who were spending their day off lazing on the beach, all thirty were busy preening their pecs and trying to figure out how to attract the attention of the exceptionally beautiful woman beside him on the blanket. Thirty soldiers, no women? This angry crowd he could figure out, no problem. He didn't need Blue to explain that an elemental with an affinity for electricity and a bunch of feral shark mutants didn't go together. _Anyone_ sitting next to Shalimar would be the recipient of dirty looks from men trying to make time with her. If Jesse had been here, the molecular would've gotten the same thing. Heck, the colonel guy himself would've had a tough time.

This sliver of beach was just as beautiful as the slice that the shark mutants were confined to, but with a bit more sand available for lying on. Which made sense, Brennan decided. Shark mutant, ocean waves lapping in—most of the mutants hit the water as soon as they could. Brennan had caught sight of a couple jumping above the waves as he'd left Shark's Cove, Blue's black-eyed gaze following him along with a dozen other angry mutants. Odd feeling, that; Brennan was more used to being disliked by normals afraid of mutants. Being feared by mutants was a different feeling entirely, and Brennan wasn't at all certain that he liked it. He could understand it; _remember that mutant who could kill with a touch of his hand? Guess these shark guys aren't so crazy_.

And there was certainly an equal amount of paranoia on this side of the fence, he realized. Despite being off duty, several of the soldiers had their shark sticks by their side, ready for quick action if needed. Look outs were posted at either side of the beach, watching for the triangular fins sticking up over the waves, both mutant and garden variety sharks.

Shalimar groaned. Brennan looked up in surprise. "Shalimar?"

"Another one," she moaned. "Here he comes now, with another awful line that went out before Adam's time. Brennan, I've had it. Every soldier on this base is hitting on me! Aren't you the least bit embarrassed? They're doing it right in front of you, as if you weren't even here!"

"Embarrassed? Me? Are you kidding?" Brennan grinned. "I'm flattered, Shal. You keep turning them all down, and I'm the one left sitting on this blanket beside you. You don't think that's driving them wild? I've got you, and they don't." _Really wish that were true, lady. But you're too wild to be tied down to one man; I know that. Maybe someday you'll look at me differently…_

"Arrgh! Men!" Shalimar sat up, rubbed at herself with a towel. "Let's go. I'm hot, and I want to get cleaned up, and I want to see if Adam's made any progress."

"See if he has anything for us to do yet, you mean." Brennan too stood up. He could all but hear thirty moans of frustration that the pretty lady was leaving. _Tough luck, guys. You'll have to be satisfied watching her stretch._

Which Shalimar did, reaching high into the sky, lengthening each and every muscle with a grace that only a feral could achieve. Muscles rippled gently beneath golden skin, blonde ringlets framing shoulders over a flirty green bikini strip of almost nothing across her chest. Thirty throats tightened at the sight, unable to breathe until the goddess did. _Gonna be cold showers tonight…_

"C'mon," Brennan said roughly. _My own cold shower is waiting…_

The gunshot cracked against the warm tropic afternoon. Something slammed into his hip, sending a sudden jolt of fire up and down his leg. Brennan didn't realize that he'd yelped until the sound had already left his mouth, and the next thing he knew, Shalimar had barreled into him, taking him down to the sandy beach floor.

"What the hell—?"

It may have been a mere research base with the likelihood of attack a slender wisp of a fantasy, but there were thirty trained soldiers lounging on the beach and the sound of gunfire hitting nearby was enough to render a cold shower superfluous. Feet hit the dirt running, scattering sprays of sand into the air. Shalimar yanked Brennan to his feet, dragging him in their wake to the doubtful shelter of the palm trees some several yards away. Brennan stumbled, his leg no longer willing to support him. It didn't matter—Shalimar pulled him to safety, more soldierly arms reaching out to help guide him to cover.

"Where—?" he gasped, wondering if he dared look at the damage. He pulled his hand away from the ouchy spot; it was covered in blood. Brennan felt sick. _That's _my _blood_.

One of the non-coms took charge, determined to keep the panic out. "You three, circle left. You over there, right. Clancy, see if you can spot the bastard. Miss, are you all right?" _Completely neglecting that fact that Shalimar was in better shape and more dangerous than any normal human here,_ thought Brennan crazily, the fire in his leg scrambling his thoughts. _Hurray for gallantry_.

"He's gone." Shalimar's eyes flashed back to brown. "He took off after the one shot."

"You can't know that—"

"I know." Shalimar cut him off sharply. "Help me get Brennan to the clinic. He's hurt. He's bleeding."

"I can walk," Brennan protested through clenched teeth. He grabbed at a nearby frond to pull himself to a standing position. Unfortunately for the elemental, his leg told him in no uncertain terms that movement was out of the question and if Brennan continued to push the issue then shock and loss of consciousness was a very real threat. He floundered, arms thrashing, until Shalimar grabbed him and eased him down to the hot sand. Blackness quivered in front of his eyes. "Or not."


	3. Shark 3

Jesse was stopped as he emerged from the forested area onto the beach. In contrast to the 'normal' inhabited regions, this beach was almost empty. But several porpoising figures leaping through the waves gave him his first, second, and third clues as to where the shark mutants preferred to spend most of their days and it wasn't lying on the sand, basking in the sun. A shark mutant, another blue by the looks of him, challenged him, attitude seeping from every pore. "Wrong beach, sir. This one's ours."

"I'm looking for Lt. Vanderworthy," Jesse returned. "Is he here?"

"You see him?" No, but what Jesse _could_ see was the angry light in the shark mutant's steely black eye, and the single thought uppermost in the man's eye: _let's give the civilian a hard time._

Jesse stifled a sigh, working for a pleasant demeanor. "I don't know what he looks like." _Patience is a virtue, Kilmartin. Keep repeating that to yourself. And remember, these are fellow mutants who have been mistreated_. _They need extra consideration_. "I'd appreciate it if you could point him out to me."

Snicker. "See that Great White out there? That's the lieutenant."

And there were no boats on the beach.

_Okay, remember Adam's request. Be nice to the fellows with the teeth, no matter how tough it is_. Jesse pasted on his best salesman-type smile. "I'm not even going to pretend to match you guys in the water. Would you ask the lieutenant to come in for a moment? I have a request for him from Dr. Morrison and Dr. Kane."

The blue looked pointedly at Jesse's waist. "I don't see no stick."

"Do I need one?" Jesse regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The shark mutant went stiff, and Jesse tried to repair the damage. "I was hoping that common courtesy would do the trick."

Better. But still no love lost. "I'll get him," the blue said. He trotted off, diving cleanly into the surf with the same feral grace that Shalimar showed so effortlessly. It didn't take long before he returned, a Great White in tow.

Lt. Vanderworthy was big, and not an ounce of fat on him. His skin too had the same scaly appearance of his fellow shark mutants but where Private Tyler had a blue tinge, Vanderworthy's skin was white verging on silver. Droplets of ocean water dripped off, shining in the bright tropical sunlight. He topped Jesse by another head, and the molecular would have bet that the man's biceps had a greater circumference than Jesse's own thighs. Vanderworthy was just plain _big_.

But not stupid. Dark eyes, almost violet, glinted with intelligence as they assessed the visitor foolish enough to walk among the sharks.

"People know you're down here, mister?" Vanderworthy asked too casually.

"They do," Jesse replied, recognizing the threat. "They also know what I'm doing down here."

"Which is?"

"Inviting you to meet with Dr. Morrison and Dr. Kane. At your convenience," Jesse added, not demanding but not subservient, either.

"And if I refuse? That doesn't sound like an order to me."

"It's not," Jesse told him promptly. "It's an invitation."

"Like I said, if I refuse?"

Jesse shrugged. "I imagine they'll find a way around you. Maybe invite someone junior to you. Work with the data they've got, maybe. Be easier if you joined in."

Vanderworthy eyed him curiously. "That's different. Around here, people are pretty quick to tell us shark types what to do."

"_I'm_ different," Jesse acknowledged.

"Civilian, for one thing."

"Got me there."

"Not a mutant, for another. Even though you run with them. Don't you go thinking that you know what it's like, being a mutant."

"Wrong on that count," Jesse replied evenly.

That stopped Vanderworthy. The mutant's eye went black, then back to normal, and Jesse knew that he was being perused more thoroughly than ever before, using senses that no man ever knew existed—before ferals.

Vanderworthy completed his scan. "You're not like your friend with the electrical field, and you're not any kind of animal mutant. What kind of freak are you? If you really are a freak."

Jesse refused to get ruffled. "First of all, we tossed the word 'freak' out of our vocabulary a long time ago. Tended to interfere with living a reasonable existence. Second, in answer to your question, I'm a molecular. So yes, I have a pretty good idea of what you've been going through. I'm one of the few people who can honestly say _been there, done that, got the tee shirt and bruises to prove it_. So, what do you say? Coming with?"

Vanderworthy was half way there. "And this boss of yours?"

"Adam Kane. A decent man. He's treated me better than my own father." _Which is a story unto itself, but you don't have to know that._

"A mutant?"

"Don't think so, but the firepower he has upstairs keeps me wondering." Jesse tapped his own head. "If it can be done, he'll find a way to solve a problem. I trust him."

"So I'm supposed to trust him."

"No." Jesse put his honest salesman smile back on. "Trust has to be earned. For now, just talk to him. You can decide later whether or not you can trust him."

"And you."

"And me," Jesse acknowledged. "Look, if you want to get philosophical, we can grab a couple beers later tonight. Me, I'm getting out of this hot sun. I don't have the option of breathing underwater like some mutants I know."

Vanderworthy startled him with a hearty guffaw. "All right. I'll come meet your boss. You've convinced me." He fell into step beside Jesse, needing only one stride to match Jesse's two. "So what the hell is a molecular?"

_Mission_ _accomplished. Now all I have to do is get him to follow me home without biting my head off_. "Let's just say I don't have a problem with losing my house keys. Getting in and out of places is not an issue."

"Really."

_Oops. Lots of interest there. What did I say?_ Jesse shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a gift."

"Sounds like a good one. You'd be pretty good to have around for robbing a bank vault."

"Yeah, but I promised my mother that I'd use my gift for Good, not Evil." Jesse gave the words the proper capitalization, hoping that the shark mutant lieutenant would drop it. There was some serious thinking going on behind those cold black eyes… "Honestly, it's not any big thing. I don't use it all that much. Most of the time Adam has me sitting behind a computer. Fort Knox is safe. Hey," Jesse objected as a soldier pushed by them, shoving Jesse off of the path. "Watch where you're going." He peered more closely. "Isn't that one of your guys?"

Vanderworthy didn't look twice. "Yeah. Don't bother with him. We don't."

"Looks a little different." And the shark mutant did, Jesse realized. He looked somehow…_flatter_…than the others. "Different DNA?"

"Yeah. That's Angel. DNA from the angel shark. A fish that hides itself on the bottom of the ocean floor and grabs whatever comes along. Morrison says she was going for camouflage, and that's what she got. I'd stay away from him, if I were you."

"Oh? Why is that?"

Vanderworthy's stride never altered. "The rest of us, we took the change pretty well. Felt pretty good, once you got into the water and began seeing all the things that normal people don't get to see. But Angel, he's not like us. Just stay out of his way, and things should be fine. And here we are, at the lab."

Saved by the bell. Jesse pulled open the screen door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Feel that?"

"Ouch! Yes." Brennan bit back a curse. He clutched at the edges of the stretcher, willing the sudden agony to seep from his butt through his hands into the hard and unfeeling metal where it wouldn't hurt so much.

"We'll give the anesthetic a bit more time to sink in. You were lucky it didn't shatter the bone. We'd be flying you back to the mainland." Adam turned away to clink some of his stainless steel tools together. Brennan caught sight of Dr. Morrison's face. The female doctor was assisting, and the thoughts running through her mind weren't hard to decipher: _nice ass, even with a hole in it_. The woman clearly wasn't dead yet. Brennan flushed.

Adam was on more mundane matters. "Neither of you saw who fired the shot?"

"Single person, but too far away to tell if they were mutant or normal," Shalimar reported. "As soon as we finish here, I'll head up to the ridge and take a look around. I should be able to identify who it was by the scent." She patted Brennan on the hand, also unable to tear her gaze away from the fascinating sight that his naked and bleeding rump had become, Brennan noted bitterly. _I want you looking at my gluteals with something other than pity, woman!_

"It had to have been one of the sharkies," boomed an entering voice. Bayliss strode in, shark stick dangling at his side. "I came as soon as I heard. What's the damage?" He caught sight of Brennan, lying flat on his belly on the clinic stretcher, bullet wound open and still bleeding. "Good one there, boy, but I can think of better things you could be doing with that ass. How bad is it?"

"The bullet's lodged in muscle tissue," Adam replied tersely, "and I'm about to remove it. If you don't mind?"

Bayliss waved his hand magnanimously. "Go ahead, doc. Don't let me stop you."

"A little privacy?" Adam all but snarled. "Martha, first thing after this, get a screen in here. I realize there isn't enough space for a private examining room, but we should be able to protect our patients from being gawked at by anyone walking in the front door."

"I'll look into it," Morrison promised. "We haven't needed it before this."

"Yes, you have. You just didn't bother to think of it."

"We'll get it," Morrison promised again, trying to mollify the other doctor.

"Thanks," Brennan muttered, clearly thinking _too little, too late_. "Ouch!"

"Brennan, that's betadine. I'm sterilizing the area; it shouldn't hurt. Unless you want the wound to get infected?"

"It's cold," Brennan complained. "What are you doing now? I feel something, but I'm not sure what."

"I'm probing for the bullet. What do you feel?"

"Very little," Brennan had to admit. "I wish I could see what you're doing."

"Actually, you really don't." Shalimar's face had gone green, and she finally turned her attention away from Brennan's ass. She swallowed hard.

"Not cut out for the nursing profession, Shal?" Brennan tried to tease, squeezing her hand. His hand muscles weren't working properly, he noted with dismay. _Crap, what a time for the effects of blood loss to kick in. Passing out probably wouldn't help at a time like this._ A familiar and unwelcome feeling of nausea started to seep into his gut. Blackness crept around the edges of his vision, and he started breathing through his mouth, trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. _Dammit, I really don't want to pass out. Adam, hurry it up!_

Nothing wrong with his hearing, not yet. The screen door banged, and out of the corner of his eye Brennan saw Jesse enter with one of the biggest men Brennan had ever seen. Clearly a shark mutant, too: he was covered in silvery scales beneath his fatigues, and nothing entirely human ever had those round black eyes. _Crap_. A shark mutant. One of the guys who was convinced that Bayliss had brought Brennan in as a breathing, walking shark stick to get the shark mutants under control. The last thing Brennan heard coming from the lieutenant's mouth before the rushing noise in his ears completely overwhelmed him was:

"Nice ass."

_Crap_.


	4. Shark 4

"He lost more blood than I'd like, but he'll be all right." Adam straightened up from examining his unconscious patient tucked in on an uncomfortable but secure narrow stretcher, side rails raised to prevent Brennan from accidentally rolling off and bouncing onto the cold tile floor. "No permanent damage. He'll be good as new in a few days." He turned back to Shalimar who was perched on a stool on the other side of the stretcher, Brennan's hand clutched in hers. "Now, what happened?"

"Good question, doc. I'd like to know the answer to that one," Bayliss chimed in. "I've got my men scouring the area."

Adam frowned, and Shalimar knew what he was thinking: with all the spoors now tracked all over the site, the feral wouldn't be able to distinguish who the shooter was from the investigators. Bayliss had just ruined that clue. Shalimar bit her lip. _Damn. Wish I'd gone out immediately, instead of staying here to make sure that Brennan was going to be all right. He looked so pale…_

"The next question is: why?" Bayliss moved on. "Was the shooter aiming for your boy, or was it random? And if it wasn't random, why did he miss?" He glanced at his aide, trailing after him, notebook in hand. "Take a memo: more practice time on the firing ranges. If they were shooting to kill, they damn well ought to get it right!"

"Yes, sir," the aide murmured, jotting it down.

"But why?" Adam persisted. "Let's assume for the sake of argument that Brennan was the target? Why? To whom? What threat does he pose?"

"It's because he's a living shark stick," Shalimar told him. "Private Tyler explained it to us earlier today. He said that Brennan 'glowed'."

"He's an elemental?" Morrison's face cleared. "Of course! That makes perfect sense. Of course they'd see him as a threat."

"Doctor?" Bayliss needed more explanation.

Morrison was only too happy to oblige. "Mr. Mulwray is an elemental; one, I presume, with an affinity for electricity. He's someone who can power up a light bulb at will. You'll never need a double A battery with him around. A useful talent under certain circumstances, but minor and not threatening—unless you're a shark mutant. They must be afraid that he can generate an electrical shock as strong as a shark stick, even though that's impossible. No mutant yet discovered has that sort of strength. Genetic science simply hasn't progressed that far. Besides, what use would it be? The world doesn't know about our shark mutants and wouldn't be interested in developing a defense such as Mr. Mulwray, even if he could affect a shark mutant."

Two sets of mutant eyes, one feral and one molecular, strayed to Adam's. Adam kept his face blank, allowing Dr. Morrison to finish her explanation.

It was enough for Colonel Bayliss. He turned on Lt. Vanderworthy. "Lieutenant? Is she right? You see this man—this _mutant_—as a threat?"

Vanderworthy came to attention. "Yes, sir. He has the potential to kill us with a mere touch of his hand."

"Nonsense," Morrison scoffed. "It would take a higher jolt that anyone can muster to do that, and certainly not someone who hasn't been artificially enhanced. He'd need to carry around some sort of amplifier on his back in order to do what you're suggesting. You're over-reacting, lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am." Vanderworthy kept the disbelief off of his face. "I'll inform the men in my command. No threat, ma'am."

"We'll prove it later, when he wakes up," Morrison pushed, sensing the doubt. "We'll run Mr. Mulwray through some tests with you. You'll see."

"Yes, ma'am."

But Bayliss had other thoughts. "You say he can control electricity? Martha, why didn't you tell me that Dr. Kane was bringing a mutant with him? I ought to have been informed. Dangerous people, mutants. Have to be handled properly. Have to be secured."

"Because I didn't know," Morrison told him patiently.

"My fault," Adam put in easily, taking the blame. "It's common for me to bring my team with me, colonel. I find them invaluable in solving genetically based problems. Of all sorts," he finished, leaving out the minor point that Brennan wasn't the only New Mutant to arrive within the last forty-eight hours. Or that Adam's 'solutions' didn't always involve chemicals and genetics and test tubes. Sometimes a good old-fashioned, high-spirited fist fight did wonders for resolving issues. He turned to Vanderworthy. "Lieutenant, I'd appreciate some of your time. I'd like to know what it is that you 'see' when you look at Brennan."

"At your convenience, sir." Vanderworthy was still stiff. It didn't take a Kane-level genius to see how much cooperation the shark mutant would give, not with both Bayliss and Dr. Morrison present.

Adam came to a decision. He nodded, musing to himself, pulling at a non-existent beard on his chin. "There are some things that need looking at. Time for a little delegation. Shalimar, go up to the ridge. I know it's probably hopeless by now, but see what you can discover."

"Captain Carruthers, you go with the little lady," Bayliss hastily instructed his aide. "Wouldn't want some of the men to get the wrong idea. Some of 'em can be a little frisky."

Adam wrestled a smile into submission, having seen the results of when an unwanted suitor became a bit too aggressive. Captain Carruthers would be in more danger than Shalimar Fox. He moved on. "Jesse, I want you to stay here. I don't expect Brennan to wake up for the next several hours, but there's a lot of data that I've uncovered, and if you could push that through the computer I'd appreciate it."

"You got it, Adam. This computer here, or shall I access the ones back in Sanctuary?"

"You can do that? Bounce it off a satellite with enough clarity to access Sanctuary?"

"What can I say? I'm good, Adam."

"You're also modest," the scientist grinned. "By all means, whisk it through Sanctuary's computers. This I've got to see." Then he sobered. "And be careful. I know that Colonel Bayliss has stationed men outside the clinic, but that sniper is still out there. And this clinic has a lot of windows." He glanced over at the sleeping elemental, noting that one such window gave direct aim at the man. Prodded, Shalimar pulled the shade closed, and Adam relaxed but only a fraction. Once again he turned his attention to Lt. Vanderworthy. "Lieutenant, would you show me where you and your men prefer to spend your hours?"

That got Bayliss's attention. He started to stand up in alarm. "Dr. Kane—"

"Oh, I'll be quite safe. This is a military base," Adam said. "Besides, Lt. Vanderworthy, in addition to being a mutant, is a highly trained Special Ops man. I couldn't be in safer company. Right, lieutenant?" he challenged, a mischievous light in his eye, deliberately misunderstanding the colonel's apprehension.

"Yes, sir." A hint of stiffness had left the lieutenant's own posture. The shark mutant clearly enjoyed Dr. Kane's blithe riding over of Bayliss's concerns. "I would be happy to escort Dr. Kane where ever he would like to go."

"There. You see?" The corners of Adam's mouth quirked upward, playing the 'genius scientist without a shred of common sense' role to the hilt. "See you in a few hours. Martha, I should have some answers for your dilemma by tomorrow."

A groan from Jesse's side of the room. "You're not planning to work all night again, are you? And keep me up with you?"

"The price of scientific advancement, Jesse. I'd get working on that computer link, if I were you." Adam Kane turned back to Lt. Vanderworthy. "Lead on, lieutenant."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Captain Carruthers wasn't obese, but he was out of shape, despite being in the military. Shalimar trotted along the trail that led to the top of the hill where the shooter had been, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the tropical humidity and glorying in the simple fact of being outdoors. Carruthers, on the other hand, was trying hard not to pant either from the heat or from the closeness of the delectable morsel known as Ms. Fox. Shalimar was well aware of his interest, well aware of the interest of almost all of the men on this island, and chose to ignore them all. There was enough trouble brewing without stirring the pot.

She arrived at their destination several yards ahead of the captain, using the time to look around, eyes yellowed and feral. Adam was right; the scene had been trampled into incomprehensibility by the horde of soldiers eager to apprehend the shooter. There wasn't a clear trail to follow any longer. Had Shalimar gone after the assassin immediately, it would have been a different story. But a pack member was wounded—Shalimar bit her lip at the thought of her teammate lying unconscious on the stretcher, the bullet bloody on the tray where Adam had dropped it after extraction—and getting Brennan to medical help had outweighed all other considerations.

Sniffing first. With an arch of his brows, Adam had communicated as clearly as Emma would have that telling Colonel Bayliss that Adam had brought more than one mutant along could wait. Adam wouldn't lie to the man, nor to Dr. Morrison, but it was obvious that relations between New Mutants and 'normals' was far from cordial. Adam wasn't above keeping a few secrets to himself, not when those secrets might help them all to resolve this situation. Yes, a bit of 'better living through chemistry' was definitely on the docket, but some lessons in how to handle subordinates was also a priority for this small community. 'Team Building 101', anyone?

Which meant that sniffing in feral form in front of Colonel Bayliss's aide was out of the question. Shalimar deliberately left the man behind so that she could swiftly peruse the territory and then revert back to her usual brown eyes before he could figure out that she too was a feral.

There was nothing to see, or smell—or, rather, too much. The ground had been gone over by not only normals but several shark mutants as well. There was no way to tell who the shooter was. Shalimar identified the spoors of not less than thirty soldiers, and it could have been any of them.

All right, time to do the Sherlock Holmes thing. Assumption one: Brennan had not been a random target. The sharpshooter had deliberately aimed at him, and his aim had fortunately been poor. Good enough under the circumstances, but not good enough to kill the elemental. Who would want the elemental dead? Simple: every shark mutant. Contrary to Dr. Morrison's beliefs, Brennan Mulwray had enough electrical power in him to knock a horse for a loop. And every shark mutant knew it. And feared the elemental.

Okay, the twenty-six shark mutants were the obvious suspects. Shalimar took another deep whiff, heedful that Captain Carruthers was almost at the site. The scent of the people here was all male, so that let out the three women of the shark mutant society that Shalimar had yet to meet. Good, twenty-three suspects. No, twenty-two; Shalimar didn't note that Blue's spoor was among those present, and neither was Lt. Vanderworthy, bringing the number down to twenty-one. Progress made. Unless it wasn't a mutant, in which case the hundred other soldiers on the base were also suspects. _At least this isn't New York City_ _with its how many million inhabitants…_

Carruthers arrived, leaning heavily against a tree and perspiring, trying to make it look natural. "You…need…to stay…with me…, little lady," he gasped.

Shalimar looked guilelessly back at him. "I just couldn't wait," she purred, simpering to keep the man off guard. "I'm _so_ worried about Brennan." Giving the hint that maybe, just maybe, she preferred her teammate's affections over that of the obviously far more attractive—_right!_—base second in command.

"He'll be okay." Carruthers managed to get that out in one short breath. "Just a flesh wound."

_Right._ _Didn't matter, because the bullet didn't go through your ass_. But Shalimar merely smiled back him, and began to step in a spiral pattern out from where the shooter had hid himself, searching for anything leftover that Bayliss's own men had missed for her to find.

The bush thathad camouflagedthe shooter was large, with several branches broken to accommodate the bulk. So, the assassin was a large man. That eliminated the ones under six foot and under two hundred pounds. That didn't eliminate many of the shark mutants, Shalimar thought. She hadn't met all that many but from what she remembered from Shark's Cove, most weighed in at large or larger. The bullet casing had already been recovered, Shalimar knew, and identified as belonging to any one of the nearly two hundred rifles on the island base. Trying to locate the sniper by identifying the weapon was an exercise in futility. Shalimar wasn't about to bother.

She ranged farther afield, risking a moment of two of going feral when she thought that Carruthers couldn't see. The area had been trodden over, but here and there another trail sallied forth. One here, and she identified it as one of the shark mutants that she'd met in Shark's Cove: Danzig, the mutant with an attitude. Now there was a good possibility. Danzig knew that Brennan was a danger to him, was as angry as any of the mutants if not more, and had the training. A good possibility. Shalimar resolved to follow up.

More scents. Carruthers was there, but not Bayliss. There were at least half a dozen other 'normal' spoors heading in this direction…hm. A particular odor permeated the grove nearby, and Shalimar had no trouble identifying it: sex. Two or more adults had come to this place and had engaged in activity that would earn a triple X rating in any movie theater. Had this been another type of location, Shalimar would have recognized this spot as a hang out for teenagers in search of a place to do the nasty, away from adult and disapproving eyes. But here, on an island base? A military base with essentially no women?

'Don't ask, don't tell.' The slogan ran through her mind, even as Shalimar observed the beaten down fronds that someone lay upon, the broken branches, the leaves that turned this place into a forbidden bower. But there was something odd about the place, something that Shalimar couldn't quite identify. This was something more than a meeting place for a lovers' tryst.

Carruthers watched her through narrowed eyes. "What're you looking for, little lady?"

"I'm not sure." Shalimar stepped over the make-shift bed, squatting down to examine an oily substance that dotted the area. There was a blob of it on this leaf, and on that, as if it had been sprayed from whatever had created it. Another blotch had hit a palm trunk, and more dripped down the side of a rock. It was from that substance that most of the odor emanated. She poked at it: slimy stuff, and viscous, but harmless enough. If it had been poison, her sensitive nose would have detected that fact immediately.

"Hey, better not go touching things," Carruthers said, alarmed. "You never know what's safe and what's not on this island. Got lots of tropical plants here. Bunch of crazy herbs, we've found. Do strange things to your mind. Careful with the plants."

"Maybe you're right," Shalimar lied, wiping her fingers on her shorts. But the stuff piqued her interest, and something told her that it was an important piece to this puzzle. Did it have something to do with whoever shot Brennan? Proximity seemed to say so. There was that combination of spoors in this grove, both mutant and normal, which was also odd. From what Shalimar had seen, a grouping like this, especially one that included shark mutants, wasn't about to happen. She grinned to herself; Romeo and Romeo, mutant style? She resolved to tell Adam about this, maybe come back later to collect a sampling of that odd substance for the scientist to play with.

"Time to go back, little lady," Carruthers announced. "You get what you came for? You saw the spot?"

"I saw," Shalimar confirmed. Captain Carruthers had the air of a man who had taken a child to the zoo and was now ready to return home and put his feet up. "We can head back."

"Good. Little lady like you ought not to be traipsing through these woods."

_What, it'll ruin my complexion?_ Shalimar bit her lip. She smiled sweetly, and let Carruthers set a leisurely pace back to the clinic.


	5. Chapter 5

Adam allowed Lt. Vanderworthy to walk in silence, savoring the chance to quietly observe the results of a well-developed adaptation to mutated DNA. The lieutenant had been a fine specimen of a man before volunteering for Morrison's experiments, and the work had only served to enhance his natural attributes. Muscles rippled under tanned skin, the sinewy bands well toned but not bulging in the fashion of body builders. Vanderworthy was simply a man well favored by nature and science. Even the receding hairline didn't detract; it accentuated the stream-lined look of the man and Adam suspected that it helped the shark mutant to speed through the waves. This was a mutant well designed for both land and sea. And with his intelligence, Lt. Vanderworthy was a force to be reckoned with. Adam resolved not to underestimate him.

Vanderworthy stopped them some distance from Shark's Cove, seating himself on a convenient log and gesturing for Adam to join him. There was no subservience in his manner and the wariness was well-hidden. "I suspect that you'd like to do some talking before meeting the others."

"Yes, I appreciate that," Adam acknowledged. "A lot of the data I've been getting is a bit on the one-sided side."

Vanderworthy snorted. "But it's science, Dr. Kane. How can it be biased? Isn't science based on logic?"

"Science is," Adam told him, "but the people trying to discover it aren't always. That's what the scientific process is all about: people discovering principles and other people trying to challenge those principles. A single experiment does not constitute proof. It took decades for Darwin's theories to be accepted."

"Not by everyone," Vanderworthy pointed out. "Not everyone accepts scientific priniciples. Look at people talking about 'Intelligent Design' theory. That's going on even today."

Adam grimaced. "Please don't dignify that concept by calling it a theory. And don't call Intelligent Design science, because it isn't. The idea that life evolved through the actions of a benevolent being may be accurate, but it has no factual basis and therefore is _not_ science no matter how much some people want to sneak it into the classroom. 'Intelligent Design' is religion pure and simple and no amount of screeching or whining will make it science. Believe what you want, but build your theories on provable facts. _That_ is science. You can test Darwin's theory, you can debate it with logic." He leaned back on the log, resting his back against a tree trunk. "Back to the real science at hand: I have a lot of facts from Morrison's research. You have a working gill structure; that's a fact. You can reach speeds underwater only dreamed of by Olympic swimmers; that's another fact. Depth?"

"More than anyone can manage with a wet suit and a tank," Vanderworthy admitted. "I'm not really sure how far we can go, since we're restricted to the waters just off this island."

"Interesting sights down there?"

"You wouldn't believe." Vanderworthy too leaned back, a small smile playing across his even features.

"What have you seen?"

"Sight? Not much. Not an awful lot of light at those depths. No, Dr. Kane—Adam," he corrected himself before Adam could do it, "no, we don't use vision at those levels. There aren't any words to describe how we perceive things, not in English or any other language that I've come across. A lot of good things came out of this experiment, and our ability to do what we do and discover what we find is a big part of it. Don't get me wrong; most of us are pleased overall with the transformation. We have senses that you can't imagine. We perceive things better and more clearly than the best machine you can design. We are more…" the shark mutant cast around for the right words, "more _alive_ than ever before."

"But…?" Adam inserted into the silence.

"There is a cost," Vanderworthy said simply. "Morrison told you that we're sterile. That none of us will be able to father a child?"

Adam looked up. "No. She didn't share that. But I'm not surprised; most hybrids in nature are infertile. A higher percentage of New Mutants are, as well."

"Unfortunately, our defect goes a bit further than that." Vanderworthy extended his arm for inspection, the rough shark skin glistening in the sun. "Feel that."

Adam did. He'd felt it earlier, with Blue, and Vanderworthy's skin felt the same: sandpaper with a vengeance. A wrong touch, and blood would be spilled from mere contact. "Your point?"

"We're covered with this," Vanderworthy explained. "All over."

"All over?" It dawned on Adam. "You mean, _all_ over?"

"Yes." Vanderworthy looked off into the water. "Care to introduce me to a woman who would go to bed with that, Dr. Kane?" He paused a moment longer, collecting his thoughts. "I think most of us could live with the fact of not having children. Other men do it, not usually by choice, but they get over it. Our choice was taken away. This was not part of the project that was explained to us. And certainly not…this." Vanderworthy gestured at himself, anger and regret at war with each other. "Think of an itch that you can't reach to scratch. We live with that all the time, Dr. Kane. We have normal urges, a normal sex drive—and no way to satisfy it. We're healthy men, doctor. Some of us had girl friends, back home. Girlfriends that we'll never see ever again, never be able to touch as man to woman. Do you wonder that we're bitter?"

But Adam Kane's mind was already at work. "Everything still works properly; yes, I saw that earlier with Private Tyler. It's merely the skin, the dermal coating…" he trailed off, thinking. Then, "I think I can help."

"What?" Vanderworthy didn't dare hope. "Just like that?"

"It may take a few days, but yes…" More thoughts. The scientist's eyes went distant, seeing things that only a genius could conceive of. "Yes, I think it can be done. I have a few ideas, a few thoughts that I could explore…"

"If you can do that," Vanderworthy said carefully, "then we all would be grateful to a point which you can't imagine. Are you sure?"

"Well, no, I'm not sure," Adam said honestly. "Do I think it can be done? Yes. But I won't guarantee success, not until I've done enough preliminary work to see if I'm right." He looked sideways at Lt. Vanderworthy. "I suspect you've had enough of promises not kept. The only promise I'll give you is to try my best. Think that will be good enough?"

"It's a more honest answer than any we've had so far," Vanderworthy replied. He stood up, and held out his hand to Adam. "Come meet my men."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Consciousness was not a gift that Brennan Mulwray relished at the moment.

It wasn't the headache the size of a bull elephant that did it. It wasn't even the fire that threatened to consume his butt, although that in itself was enough to see the value in general anesthesia on a routine basis. And it certainly wasn't the tropical humidity that turned his skin to burning coals on this torture rack he was lying on.

Damn, but he needed to get to the john! _Gonna burst at the seams, here, guys!_

"Brennan?" It was Jesse.

He must have said something, because Jesse chuckled.

"Not for another few hours, Brennan. Adam said for you to lie here until the stuff he gave you wears off. If you try to get up, you'll fall down. Then you'll split something open, and we'll all be sorry."

The words Brennan used were almost unintelligible under the influence of narcotics but pungent enough that Jesse had no trouble deciphering the meaning.

"Okay. Here." Jesse handed him a large plastic bottle.

Great. Here. In pain. Out in the open. Not even the screen that Morrison promised. Two soldiers, stationed right outside the clinic, poking their stupid noses in to see what all the chatter was about. Brennan was already sympathetic to the plight of the shark mutants, and this only increased his conviction. He shoved the bottle under the covers, face red.

But it helped. On to the next concern: "I want to get up. This thing is a bed of nails. And who the hell left me lying on my back? Anybody remember _where_ I got shot, for cripes' sake?"

"That was Adam," Jesse told him unsympathetically. "Said it would help stop the bleeding. You remember that part? The part where you ran out of blood? Adam put some extra pints back in." But then he touched Brennan's shoulder, as if to convince himself that the man was still alive. "You had us plenty worried there, guy. Adam almost scrapped the whole mission while you were asleep. If Dr. Morrison hadn't had a supply of your blood type on hand, you'd be waking up in Sanctuary hooked up to a heck of a lot more equipment than they have here. Including a bunch of garden hoses stuck where you really don't want to think of, bro."

It all came back to Brennan, every stinking detail of the whole episode, in living color. There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "The shooter?"

"Escaped. Shalimar checked out his nest, but Bayliss's men got to it first and ruined the atmosphere. There wasn't much to be found. She's on her way back here right now. She checked in a few minutes ago."

"Adam?" Brennan sank back onto the stretcher, and his muscles appreciated the surrender. Seemed like way too much work to even keep his eyes open, despite how hard the stretcher was. Damn, couldn't Morrison keep something halfway comfortable in this place? Not everyone had a hide made of shark leather.

"Adam's making nice with the shark people. He's having a heart to heart with their lieutenant right now. He should be back before too long."

"Mm." Try as he would, the fear that he felt for their mentor, Brennan was losing the battle to stay conscious. And he hurt.

"Don't worry. That guy Vanderworthy's okay. He'll make sure that Adam doesn't come to any harm. I saw them talking. Besides, I don't think I could have kept Adam from walking out there. Not gonna happen in this lifetime." Jesse's hand closed around a pair of white pills. "Here. Take these. They'll make you feel better. Adam left them for you, for when you woke up." He poured them into Brennan's mouth, not taking no for an answer, helping the man to hold the glass steady to gulp them down with some water.

"Jess…"

"It's okay, Brennan." The molecular softened his voice. "Just rest. We've got it under control. Everyone's safe."

_Why does that sound like tempting fate?_ And Brennan slipped into a deep, narcotic-facilitated sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shark's Cove was pretty, there was no doubt about that. One look at the white sandy beach, the frothy waves lapping at the shore, would resolve any doubt on that count. Adam inhaled the warm smell of salt water, enjoying the beat of sunlight on his skin. _I need to get out more_, he promised himself.

If this had been a public beach, it would have seemed distressingly empty. Only a few men had plunked themselves down on the sand, brief trunks and bare skin suggesting that they were off duty. Those men looked up idly as Vanderworthy entered the clearing with his guest, and did a double take, faces falling and features glowering. Adam got the uncomfortable feeling that if Vanderworthy hadn't been with him, Steak Tartare a la Adam Kane would have been the blue plate special, barbequing not required. Adam stopped himself from edging closer to the lieutenant for protection.

Vanderworthy motioned for the shark mutants to join them, seating Adam on a boulder that sat in the middle of the hot sand. Adam, not a small man, felt extraordinarily short when surrounded by the mutants. If nothing else, the mutation had caused many of them to gain in stature and height. Not one present was less than six feet tall and most had developed shoulders to make a weight-lifter proud.

Vanderworthy grabbed one of them, a tiger shark. "Go fetch the others in," he ordered, giving the man a little shove toward the ocean waters.

"For him?" Not quite a sneer.

"Yeah. For him. Go." The next shove was more pronounced, and the shark mutant went. Adam started to relax. A rough crowd, but Vanderworthy had them under control.

_I hope._

They came in from the water by ones and twos, shark mutants of all varieties: Great Whites, blues, tigers, black tips, white tips; Adam lost track of all the different species represented in their DNA. He recognized Blue, Private Tyler, but the mutant refused to respond to Adam's greeting. All approached and dropped themselves onto the sand, a look acknowledging Vanderworthy but no military gestures. It was as if they had removed themselves from this base when they took on shark characteristics.

The women came in, too. Adam gave them a careful look; there was little to distinguish them from their male counterparts except a brief concession to fashion. Instead of briefs close fitted for stream-lined movement through the water, these women wore drab tank suits that emphasized speed as well as camouflage. One casually yawned at him, displaying several rows of vicious teeth. The meaning was clear: Adam was not welcome.

Not yet.

"Listen up!" Vanderworthy bellowed at them. The disgruntled chatter ceased, all of the mutants giving the pair in the center their undivided and sullen attention. "Listen, fish brains. This is Adam Kane. He's a geneticist. You're going to give him your full cooperation. Hear that?"

"We hear you." A Great White stood up, the mutant as large as the lieutenant beside him, Adam noted. Without insignia, it was impossible to tell the man's rank and it didn't seem to matter to this group. Rank wasn't an issue but there was still a clear pecking order. "We just don't know why."

"Because, Warren," and Vanderworthy leaned over as if talking confidentially. But every word could be heard crystal clear. "That picture of the girl back in Oklahoma? The one pasted on your locker? You want to see her again?"

"I suppose you think this lubber can fix it."

"Yeah," Vanderworthy said clearly, "I do. He's the first person on this project to give a damn about us. He's been the _only_ one so far who's been honest with us. Blue," and he turned on the private, "you were there. Tell them."

"The others," Blue said slowly, choosing his words, "his team. They're mutants, too. Not like us, but still mutants. _They_ haven't treated me any different than one of their own. Dr. Kane, he couldn't do anything to stop Morrison from feeling me up back at the clinic but he told her to at least get a screen for privacy. He didn't want to embarrass me in front of the colonel."

"Like the colonel cared," came a muttered comment from the crowd.

Vanderworthy swung around. "No, the colonel doesn't care but I'm telling you: Dr. Kane does. He's as worried about mutants as he is about normals. He's got a team of them, all working for him."

"So you're saying that this guy can give us our lives back?" From a tiger shark mutant.

Adam butted in before Vanderworthy could respond. "Look, I won't make you any guarantees. It's too early for that. But I think I have a better than average chance at a treatment that will soften the skin on certain portions of your anatomy, enough to restore your social lives. But I can't do it without your cooperation. I need data, information on how your mutation works. And," and Adam gave a sideways grin, "I'm not military. I don't give orders. I just make requests. Which you don't have to do if you don't think you should. Just ask my team," and the grin slipped sideways, "if they always do what I tell them."

Warren pushed forward. "So you're gonna fix everything? Make everything right? How about the fence out there?" He gestured at the sea, the waves endlessly pushing at the sand. "How about our _lives_?"

Vanderworthy started to reply, but Adam wouldn't let him. "I _can't_ fix everything," he stated clearly. "You and Dr. Morrison have put a lot of time into this project, a lot of effort, and these problems have built up over months. To expect to solve everything in twenty-four hours is foolish. _This_ is what I can do: I can investigate a technique for improving the quality of your skin on select areas so that you can resume a normal, or near normal, sex life. Dr. Morrison and Colonel Bayliss have asked me to explore ways to make you impervious to electricity. Frankly, I'm more doubtful about that aspect of the research. I think any alterations that I make to your mutations will cripple the ability to sense electricity that you share with sharks. I think I could do it; I'm not certain if it would be a benefit to you or a drawback." He cocked his head at Warren. "What do you think?"

"Me?" Warren was taken aback. He glowered.

"Yes, you. This is your body. You know about your senses; you live with them. Would you rather give it up and be resistant to electricity in the normal human sense, or would you rather stay as you are?"

"You're asking me?"

"Yes, you. And you. And you. And you." Adam pointed his finger at various members of the group. "I'm asking all of you. Like Lt. Vanderworthy said, I need your cooperation if I'm going to make this work. What do you say?"

Another shark piped up, a tiger. "What about getting slutted? Can you stop that?"

Adam went blank. "Slutted? What's that?"

The mood suddenly got uglier. Adam felt a quick quiver of fear. Vanderworthy stood over him, a stalwart force. "He doesn't know, people. He's only been here for a day. Give him a break."

"Then you better tell him. Tell him fast." Warren's face was grim. "'Cause we got our own agenda: our girls, the fence—and to stop the blackies from slutting us."


	6. Chapter 6

It started as a tingling, a feeling that Shalimar couldn't quite describe. Her finger prickled, the finger that had touched the slime that Captain Caruthers had warned her against, and then the sensation skipped around until it settled uncomfortably in her nether regions. From there it set up its own mini base camp: it shot out tendrils of sensation that made Shalimar uncomfortably hot, and it wasn't the sun she was feeling. She became acutely aware of her body, of the muscles moving in tandem in her thighs, skin brushing against skin. A random image of Brennan, bare-chested, flashed across her mind, and the tingling intensified.

What was going on? Shalimar felt like throwing herself at her injured teammate, wrapping her legs around his waist and delving into a lip-lock that would break the Guinness Book of World Records for passion. What was wrong with her? And why now? The man was hurt, and they were platonic teammates, and—oh, _damn_, but she felt hot! A branch brushed by her, and she rubbed against it before she could get herself under control.

_Another flash of Brennan: surge in her loins! Replaced by Adam: more tingling, almost unbearable! Jesse: dammit, he was her 'little brother'!_ This had to be from her mutation. Her feral nature was exerting itself, causing her to go into heat like a cat. Dammit, this couldn't be happening at a worse time!

Really bad time! Captain Caruthers came into view, and Shalimar clutched onto a tree to prevent herself from leaping at the man and ravishing him on the spot. Overweight, sweaty, smug—and Shalimar still fought an overwhelming desire to rip the captain's clothes off right here on the wooded trail. She moaned in frustration, the blood in her thighs pounding and the rhythm echoing in her head.

"Little lady? What's wrong?"

Not him! No! There was only one thing that she could do to save herself from what was going on inside.

Shalimar ran.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Shalimar? Shalimar!" Jesse twisted frantically at his comm. link. "Shalimar, talk to me! Dammit," he finished, wishing for Sanctuary's bank of computers. With those, he could have located the feral within moments anywhere on this island and gone to fetch her. For it was clear that Shalimar was in trouble. A terrified cry across the comm. link, and a moan of anguish, and then nothing more.

Jesse looked at Brennan, still sleeping on the stretcher. The man's color was slowly improving but there was still that sniper to think about. The shot could have been random, Brennan an unwitting target, but Jesse had been through too many scrapes to count on that.

Dammit, this was a military base! Those soldiers outside guarding the door ought to be good for something! And Shalimar needed help now!

The pair of soldiers looked up as he banged through the screen door.

"Something's happening up in the hills," he told them tersely, keeping it brief. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him get up out of bed."

One of the soldiers nodded solemnly. "You need back up?" he offered. "I got a shark stick." He slapped the rod dangling at his hip.

_Right_. Shalimar vs. a shark mutant. On dry land, Jesse would bet on Shalimar any day. Whatever was going on, it didn't involve shark mutants although Jesse didn't have a clue as to what it could be. "No thanks. Keep it. Keep Brennan safe. Don't let anyone near him except Adam or Dr. Morrison. Watch for snipers."

"You got it, buddy."

Jesse took off at a run toward the wooded area that Shalimar and Captain Caruthers had gone to, hoping that the feral hadn't strayed too far from the trail. He hadn't a clue what was going on but anything that could rock Shalimar's boat this much had to be pretty heavy duty. He keyed on his comm. link. "Adam?"

"Jesse? What is it? Is Brennan worse?"

"No, it's Shalimar." Jesse swiftly filled him in.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Find her!" Adam ordered. "Don't take any chances, but find her!" He clicked off his comm. link, and stifled his own groan. This whole excursion was going to hell in a hand basket. First Brennan down, now Shalimar in trouble. He was running out of team members and he hadn't even begun to solve any of the problems he'd encountered here. This was supposed to have been a pleasant excursion, a vacation for the team and an easy genetics problems or two to laze over. When had things gone so wrong?

Vanderworthy eyed him with concern. "What is it?"

Adam made a swift decision. The shark mutants had chosen to trust him; Adam had to do the same. "It's Shalimar. She sent out a distress call, and then nothing. Jesse's going after her. She could be anywhere on this island by now."

Vanderworthy considered. "She's a feral, right?"

"Right. Which means that anything or anyone who could cut her off from communication has to be plenty dangerous. I'm going to have to go. We haven't finished, though—"

"Sit down," Vanderworthy ordered. "You're on a military base, Dr. Kane. A military base with a couple dozen Special Ops, emphasis on the 'special'. Take advantage of it. Hey, Blue," he called out to the beach. "Yo, Blue. Grab a dozen of us and search the island. Ms. Fox is in trouble. Go bail her out. Oh, and watch out for the other one. He's looking for her, too. Now, you were saying, Dr. Kane?" and he turned back to Adam as if he hadn't just ordered his troops into action.

The herd scampered by, feet unshod, surprisingly quiet for such large men. Not one carried a gun; not one needed it. They all looked very large, and very capable, and very dangerous. Adam was grateful to have them on his side. Shalimar couldn't be in better hands.

But—"are you sure that I shouldn't—?"

"Delegation, Dr. Kane," Vanderworthy tsked. "Don't try to tell me that you're better able to locate someone on this rock than my men. We know every rock, every nook and cranny, and we have more than twice the speed and stamina that you do. We can do this, but we can't solve our own problems. We need you for that." He leaned back, settling in for a serious discussion. "I was about to tell you about slutting."

Vanderworthy was right; there was nothing Adam could do for Shalimar that the shark mutants couldn't do better. He grimaced. "Hang on a moment." He held the comm. link to his mouth. "Jesse? Anything?"

"Not yet."

"Keep looking. Reinforcements are on the way. Lots of them." Adam deliberately relaxed on the log, the better to listen to Vanderworthy. He compartmentalized his worry; Jesse would notify him when there was a new development. _Trust in your people, Adam_. _Like the shark mutant said: delegate._ He turned back to Vanderworthy. "Tell me about this slutting. And call me Adam."

"Adam." Vanderworthy nodded. "Vince. Even though most people call me Lieutenant. I sometimes think that's my first name."

Brief smile. "Now who's stalling?" Adam asked gently. "This is not an easy topic for you."

"It's hard to admit that my people are being abused every day and in this hellish way," Vanderworthy admitted, "but there's no better way to describe it. Have you heard of shark fin soup?"

Adam blinked at the sudden apparent change in subject matter. "Shark fin soup? Asian dish; a delicacy. It's the subject of environmental concerns today, that Asian waters are being over-fished for sharks. Their fins are cut off, and the carcasses dumped back into the ocean for a lingering death. Shark fins themselves are supposed to be an aphrodisiac, although I'm not aware of any research that proves that claim beyond a shadow of a doubt. What does that have to do with you? None of you have any fins."

"It's not fins that they get from us." Vanderworthy worried at his lip, and Adam winced. Those teeth looked _sharp_. "All they have to do is flip up onto our back, put on a glove to protect their hands from being cut up by our skin, and shove their hands down our pants. We're helpless to stop them. You saw Blue, there in Morrison's clinic. Once he was flat on his back, there was nothing he could do. We're lucky to stay breathing in that position. Fighting back is out of the question."

"And the results?" Adam found it helped to stay clinically detached. He had to work at it; nausea was rising fast as the story unfolded. He could only imagine how much worse it was for the shark mutants going through the real thing.

"An aphrodisiac potion, selling for hundreds of dollars on the black market," Vanderworthy told him grimly. "A real one, and you can take that to the bank. One swig of that potion creates a raving lunatic trying to jump your bones. You can imagine what a big seller that is. There's one of us—we call him Angel, a guy with angel shark DNA, who gets off on getting slutted. He regularly goes up to a spot high on the island to meet the blackies and produce. They work him over, pay him a token amount, then sell the results and get rich. I hear a couple of 'em have a pretty hefty Swiss bank account."

"The other mutants? How do they feel about this?"

Another grim smile. "Let's just say that I work hard at making sure that none of my guys goes anywhere on this rock without an escort."

"But…?"

"I'm not the only one giving the orders," Vanderworthy admitted. "My men get base chores just like everybody else. Sometimes those chores take us into lonely places. We stay alert, we defend ourselves—so far without drawing any blood, although that's been sheer luck—and sometimes they still catch us. They gang up on us and wear black ski masks so we can't tell who it is."

"Have you tried a formal complaint to Colonel Bayliss? He doesn't seem like the type to let something like this go. He's a pompous ass who can't see past his own nose, but I don't think he'd deliberately dishonor the uniform."

"No proof," Vanderworthy replied gloomily. "There are a few that we think are in on it, but the one time I went to Bayliss, all our suspects were carefully seen drinking in the canteen." He set his chin. "It's their word against ours. And who do you think Bayliss is going to believe? To him, we're just useful weapons. Dangerous, but useful." He straightened up. "Solve this problem, Dr. Kane, and you'll have solved the biggest problem on this rock. Stop the black marketers from abusing us."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Shalimar!" Jesse called out, as he'd done so many times in the last hour alone. A branch whipped back to strike him across the cheek when he plunged into the undergrowth, trying to follow the twisted trail that she'd left. The feral had been running flat out, and Jesse didn't even try to match her speed. That would have been futile.

He'd met up with the shark mutants, didn't bother to question the luck that had given him the help. He sent them in a wide search pattern, certain that Shalimar wouldn't know which way to run to safety, only taken a little aback when they insisted on conducting the search in pairs. Did they know of some danger that he didn't? Didn't matter; Shalimar was exposed to that very danger, and Jesse wasn't about to let anything get in his way of finding her. Not large animals, not soldiers, not mutants—

—and not the vine that tried to lock itself around his neck as he passed. He phased through, refusing to bother with untwisting the greenery as a normal mortal might. "Shalimar!"

Wait…over there. Did he hear something? It could have been a wild boar; there was grunting, but it was too high-pitched… "Shalimar!"

A small blonde body came flying out of the undergrowth at him, leaping on him and bowling him over. Inhumanly strong arms wrapped around his chest, crushing him to her. Lips locked onto his.

"Shalimar?" Of all the things he expected, this was not one of them.

"Help me, Jesse!" she pleaded, almost trying to crawl inside his skin. "Help me! Please!"

"Shalimar? What's wrong?" Jesse couldn't believe it. She was bedraggled, sweaty, flushed—and altogether _hot_.

She clutched onto him, pulling him closer. "Jesse, I can't help it! I need it so bad it hurts!"

"Need what—?" It clicked. Feral. Heat. Yowling like a banshee. "Shit!" he all but yelled. "Shalimar, do you know what you're doing? Are you crazy?"

"Now!" Shalimar insisted frantically. "Now?" she pleaded.


	7. Shark 7

"Sedate her," Dr. Morrison advised calmly. "It's the best way to help her ride it through. She'll only suffer more if you don't."

"You knew about this?" Adam's disgust was plain to see. Upon arrival at the clinic, Shalimar had transferred her frantic attentions from Jesse to her mentor, nearly knocking him over in her need. From the look of him, Jesse was grateful. As a totally normal and healthy male, he had been having a tough time fending off Shalimar's uncontrollable advances. _Shalimar will appreciate that later_, Adam thought. He turned on Morrison again. "You didn't tell me—Shalimar!" he scolded as the girl slid into his chest. "Shal—ummph!" as her mouth closed over his.

"Two ccs. of haloperidol ought to do the trick," Morrison murmured, sliding the needle into Shalimar's vein. "A little on the heavy side, but she's healthy. Oh, yes, very healthy," she noted as Shalimar tried to do something to her mentor that most rated X movies couldn't handle. "You have an impressive team, Adam."

"This isn't funny, Martha," Adam snapped, sternly demanding that parts of his own anatomy stop responding to Shalimar in this condition. Hegrew a new respect for Jesse's level of self-control on the spot."With your history, you of all people ought to know that." A moment later Shalimar's eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed into his arms, a slight bundle thatAdam tenderly deposited onto the second stretcher beside a wide-eyed Brennan. Even in her sedated state, Shalimar reached one arm across the intervening space to rest on Brennan's chest.

Brennan grimaced; _this is not how I pictured winning her affections_. But he covered her small hand with his, allowing her the comfort even in her sleep. The gesture was safe. And G rated. "Adam?"

"Just don't let her jump on you. Not in your condition. Now," and Adam fixed the other scientist with a cold eye, "perhaps you'd like to share the _rest_ of your research, _Dr_. Morrison?"

But Morrison was unmoved. "It wasn't pertinent to the project, Adam. Surely you can see that. It's an interesting anomaly, but frankly, it's a waste of time to explore the sexual attributes of the shark mutants. These mutants are created in the lab, not produced in egg-laying caviar beds. Reproduction is not an issue; I can create more any time that I chose. Besides, I should think that some of the more adventuresome of the shark mutants would find this particular twist appealing. I understand that it's quite lucrative for them."

"Appealing—!" Adam was at a loss for words, but not for long. "Martha, a group of soldiers on the base are _attacking_ them for this _anomaly_ and selling it on the black market! Do you have any idea of the side effects on the normal population? Have you even _studied_ this? Do you know if you're allowing something lethal to be distributed? _Do you know what you're doing?_"

"Stop yelling, Adam. The entire base can hear you."

"I'm not—" Adam lowered his voice with an effort. "Martha, how could you have been so thoughtless? Whatever possessed you to—"

_Crack!_

The window shattered: a bullet slapped through.

Jesse flung himself in front of Brennan, phasing as he did so. Just in time; the bullet shattered against his suddenly dense surface, flattening itself and dropping to the floor.

"Brennan!" Adam yelled. Another bullet followed the first; Adam grabbed Morrison and took her to the floor.

Shots rang out from outside the clinic door: the guards firing back. The courtyard in front of the clinic erupted into a flurry of activity, the soldiers on duty no longer walking sedately to their posts but grabbing rifles and flinging themselves down behind the nearest cover. Brennan rolled off his stretcher, taking Shalimar with him and Jesse maintaining his shield over the pair of them on the hard wood of the floor.

"Everyone all right?" a soldier shouted to the inside.

"Jesse?"

"Intact," Jesse reported with relief. "I got to them in time." He raised himself off of his teammates, Shalimar still in her drugged state yet taking advantage of the movement to snuggle into Brennan's chest, murmuring softly. _Still hot and in heat…_

Brennan winced. "Somebody want to give me a hand to get up?" He looked down at the slender blonde in his arms, an odd expression on his face. "Or not."

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"I need a shower," Jesse muttered to himself, grumpy and not afraid to admit it. The peculiar combination of sweat from both fear and lust created an aroma that even he couldn't stomach on himself, and _he_ was the one who created it. "A _cold_ shower," he added, casting a dour look at his teammates.

Brennan chose not to acknowledge the molecular's mood. The clinic had been re-righted and he was once again relaxing—on his side this time, thanks very much, Adam!—on the stretcher and looking forward to the rest of his recuperation on either a soft bed or a soft sandy beach. Both should _not_ come equipped with a sniper. The sleeping blonde, however, could remain under his arm. He smothered a grin. _One up on you, bro!_ Despite her ordeal, Shalimar's hair still smelled of the flowery shampoo that she'd used this morning. That was nice. He could do without the sheen of perspiration, but even that added to the spice of her. He was certain that there was a whole heck of a lot of pheromones around in there, but as long as it wasn't accompanied by a leaping body jumping onto his _so_ not-up-to-it ass, Brennan was satisfied.

"Go," Adam ordered Jesse, fed up with the entire mess known as Base Forty Three A. "Were you able to get the data plugged in? Then go. It will undoubtedly take a while. Slow computers," he added, with a glare at Morrison, as if she was responsible for the speed of the computers as well as the problems on the base.

"You're getting closer to a solution for electrical sensitivity problem?" she asked, ignoring the warning signs.

"I'm getting closer to a solution for some of the shark mutants' problems," Adam snarled. Only Brennan noticed that Adam didn't mention exactly which problem he was working on, but he could guess. Four samples of Shalimar's blood? Six from shark mutants, including Blue and Vanderworthy? Adam even requested and got a volunteer to demonstrate what happened when a shark mutant was placed on his back. This time Blue hoisted himself willingly onto the clinic stretcher to be measured and poked and prodded by Adam, the geneticist muttering to himself in the foreign language known as medical-ese. Lt. Vanderworthy also donated his body to science and received the same treatment, Adam comparing the two sets of readings. Small samples of skin tissue were excised from both, Adam apologizing for the crude techniques but telling them that it was necessary. Both shark mutants eagerly submitted to the testing, but each in turn declined to join Adam as he gleefully offered to show them the results under the microscope. Brennan, used to this sort of behavior from his mentor, ignored him and pretended to be asleep with Shalimar in his embrace.

Dr. Morrison he watched from underneath hooded eyelids. The woman was miffed at Adam's refusal to let her participate and finally slunk out of the clinic. Brennan didn't particularly care where she went, just that she left. The atmosphere brightened considerably at that point, even though the sun was headed down over the horizon. Both shark mutants didn't say anything but Brennan could tell just by the set of their over-developed shoulders that both were relieved. _No love lost there_.

Vanderworthy and Blue had been acting as Adam's lab assistants and go-fers in addition to being lab rats, since neither Brennan nor Shalimar was up to it and Jesse hadn't yet returned from cleaning up. Adam plopped himself down on a convenient stool to regard them.

Blue looked at him suspiciously. He'd only been working with the man for a few hours, yet he already knew that expression. "Yeah?" he drawled out with mock dread. Well, maybe not so mock.

"I need some more data," Adam said hesitantly.

"And—?" Vanderworthy too feared what was coming.

"I need to explore your electrical sensibilities," Adam explained. "And I need to see how you react to external sources of electricity."

"Ouch," Vanderworthy said wryly.

"I thought that's what you'd say—"

"Nope," Vanderworthy interrupted. "You don't understand, Dr. Kane. When I said 'ouch', I meant 'ouch'. You zap us with a stick, it hurts like a…" He trailed off, watching his language with ladies present, even though the lady in question was still asleep.

"Right. But where does it go from being something you can perceive, like light—even painful light—to something that can knock you out?" Adam pursued.

"And you need this to fix our skin?" Blue was understandably confused.

"Actually, yes. I have two alternate possible solutions, and the one involving electrical current looks more promising at this point. Although 'the operation was a success, but the patient died' scenario is not what we're after, which means that I have to know if your mutated biology can stand up to the treatment I'm considering. Dr. Morrison did some of the data collection but her methods were crude and the data suspect. It appears that every time you were touched with one of those shark sticks, you lost consciousness."

"That's right," Vanderworthy acknowledged warily.

"What happened when the stick was set to the lowest setting?"

"We fell over and flopped around on the ground for a while." The black humor fell flat.

"No, I mean the lowest setting."

"We fell over and flopped around on the ground for a while," Vanderworthy repeated patiently. "Like I said: we're sensitive to it." He pointed at Brennan, who had given up his pretense of sleeping and was listening to the discussion with both ears. "Not one of us has dared shake his hand. Not because he's not an okay guy, but because he leaks so much electricity that to us he literally glows. I could probably brush up against him and get away with just my head ringing but not when he's angry."

"Brennan leaks more energy when he's angry?" Adam's attention was caught.

"Well, yeah. Everybody does. But not the same. _His_ gets your attention."

"Remind me to keep my temper," Brennan grunted, relaxing against the cold and hard stretcher, wishing for his comfortable bed back in Sanctuary. Even the Sanctuary clinic recliner was more comfortable. His backside throbbed in time with his headache.

"That's interesting," Adam mused, taking notes in his head. He turned to the elemental. "Remind me to explore that when we're back home. But for now," and he turned back to the shark mutants, "we still have a little skin problem to solve. I still need to determine at what voltage you go from 'ouch' to 'flopping around on the ground.'" He looked expectantly at the two shark mutants. "I can adjust the voltage to some place a _lot_ lower than those shark sticks."

Blue grinned at his lieutenant. "Isn't this where I get to follow in your footsteps, lieutenant? You lead; I'll follow. After you, sir."

Vanderworthy mock-scowled at the private. "Watch it, there, private. I could order you to volunteer. I outrank you."

"Yes, sir, and you're pretty rank." It was an old joke, one shared between comrades. Adam appreciated the relationship that Vanderworthy had built up with his men.

Vanderworthy held out his arms to Adam, wrists first, as if offering them for handcuffs. "Okay, doc; what happens next? Test away."

"Actually, it's pretty simple," Adam explained. "I'll give you a couple of wires to hold and put some galvanometers onto your skin to measure your body's response. I'll start with the lowest possible setting, since it sounds like your sensitivity is pretty strong."

"Please don't call me sensitive, doc. I'm an officer in this man's army; I've got a reputation to uphold as a bad-ass."

Adam grinned, tacking electrodes onto the lieutenant's chest, hooking the wires up to his monitors. It took a few minutes, but he got the distinct feeling that Vanderworthy was in no hurry to experience what Adam had in mind. "You ready?"

"Fire away, doc."

"Lowest setting," Adam murmured, flipping the switch.

Vanderworthy winced. "Felt that."

"I can see you did." It wasn't the specimen that Adam was watching, it was his dials. "This is impressive. Your readings are already off the scale as far as nocio-receptor response. Are all of you like this?"

"Why don't you test Blue boy over there and find out?"

"Doing just fine over here, lieutenant." Blue backed away.

"This may be a problem," Adam muttered, mostly to himself. "If I'm seeing these sorts of readings at this level, then using the electrical process to resolve the skin texture may not be practical. Lieutenant, can I try a slightly higher setting for comparison?"

"Anything for science," Vanderworthy said, the lie clear on his face.

"Anything to get you to your wife back home," Blue snickered. "I've seen her picture inside your locker door."

"You, you're just jealous."

"Yeah, lieutenant, I am. She's a looker. You're a lucky man." The comraderie between the two was plain to see. Blue cocked his head at Adam. "You get that plan of yours to working, Dr. Kane, and there'll be a bunch of weddings real soon and kids nine months after that. That I can promise you."

"Oh, I'm fairly certain I can get something to work," Adam assured them. "It's just a matter of time. The genetics is pretty clear at this level."

That caught Vanderworthy's attention. "What do you mean? Dr. Morrison said that there was no cure for our 'skin condition'."

"Oh?" Adam tried to backpedal. "Well, maybe she misunderstood. Or was getting pressured from somewhere else." He adjusted a dial. "Certainly when we arrived, this wasn't the most calm of environments. Hopefully I can do something about that. And I'm not just talking about your 'social' problem."

"Yeah. That would be a plus." But all present could tell that there was some heavy duty thinking going on behind those shark-black eyes. Brennan lay back on his stretcher and watched, wondering if he had enough energy to sit up and throw a bolt or two if needed. He decided that he didn't, and that it didn't matter. Adrenaline would do wonderful things when the time came. And Brennan Mulwray devoutly hoped that that time would never arrive. The elemental wanted to like these shark mutants—they were fellow mutants, after all—but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on, something that no one on this island had seen fit to share with their guests. And it made Brennan nervous. _Something fishy in Denmark, friends…_

It didn't seem to bother Adam. The scientist had been brought here to work on the genetic problems plaguing this project, and that was what he was doing. The current problem wasn't exactly what Morrison had had in mind, but that, to Adam, was unimportant. Morrison had been too close to the issues to be able to see how to truly solve them. These shark mutants had been badly treated, had had their lives' dreams and aspirations taken from them and no one seemed to care. This one thing that Adam was doing, this returning to the men their ability to conduct a private life again, would go a long way to solve the overall situation, and would make the rest of the problems recede if not disappear altogether.

Adam glanced over at his two patients. Brennan was watching him with interest, although Adam noted that the man's face was still pale and wondered if another blood transfusion would be in order. No; the supply was limited, and what Brennan really needed was rest and a couple of hearty meals to replenish what had been lost. Adam frowned slightly: _and_ antibiotics. There was a pink in the elemental's cheeks that had nothing to do with health. Adam resolved to look in Dr. Morrison's supplies to see which antimicrobials she carried and start the man on something before it got to be alarming.

Even Shalimar was stirring, starting to come out of her enforced sleep. A finger stretched, a deep sigh followed, and Adam smiled. If the girl had had a tail, it would be twitching right now. He pulled his attention away from her, sparing a glance for the drugs on hand. If she was still under the influence of the shark mutant aphrodisiac, he'd sedate her again. As a feral, Shalimar just barely kept her wild nature under control and if she were subjected again to those overpowering impulses—well, Adam would just as soon protect her from that. One woman—excluding the shark mutant women who could escape into the sea—and over one hundred servicemen who hadn't seen anything in a skirt for months, and an aphrodisiac? Adam thought of himself as an idealist, but he was far from stupid.

He turned back to the bank of dials, making the appropriate adjustments. "Lieutenant, I apologize, but this will be the last one. For you, at least; sorry, Private Tyler, but I do need a couple of comparison readings to get an idea if the lieutenant's numbers are consistent among all the shark mutants. Solving the problem for the lieutenant would be a step in the right direction, but I'd like to be able to extend that to all of you. Lieutenant, are you ready? This one will be a bit higher in the voltage."

"As ready as I'll ever be, doc." Vanderworthy took a deep breath.

"Here goes." Adam flipped the switch.

The reaction was dramatic. No small 'ouches' this time. Vanderworthy spasmed, arms flying out in a gross parody of a backward swan dive, head thrown back with a silent scream coming out in a mere gurgle. Adam immediately cut the power. Vanderworthy collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

Adam hastened to help, but Blue held him back. "Stay away, doc!" the private commanded. "Watch the teeth!"

The shock had left Vanderworthy gasping and unconscious, his jaw working to draw air into oxygen-starved lungs with those deadly teeth gnashing at nothing. Too close, and someone would be missing an arm in a mere second. The shark mutant's arm thrashed about, his heels beating a staccato drum rhythm on the floor, yet still Blue held Adam back for fear of injury.

"He'll come out of it in a minute, doc," Blue told the scientist. "Believe me; we've been through this before—and lots worse. He'll be okay."

"That was a grand mal seizure!" Adam ground out. "You can't possibly be subjected to that on a regular basis. Not deliberately!"

"That's barbaric!" Brennan added, looking on in horror. This wasn't quite as bad as Genomex, but the content was basically the same: torturing mutants in the name of science.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it _regular_," Blue said grimly. "You get one of those sticks jabbed at you, you learn pretty quick to do as you're told."

There was a bang at the front of the clinic. The interruption couldn't have come at a worse time. Six soldiers, led by Captain Caruthers, entered through the screen door, took one look at the shark mutant writhing on the clinic floor, leaped to the wrong conclusion and drew their shark sticks.

"Stand back, Dr. Kane," Caruthers ordered. "I'll take care of him." He advanced, intent on driving both shark mutants back to the corner of the clinic, convinced that the mutants intended their guests harm. "Spread out, men."

"Don't be ridiculous," Adam returned tartly. "I'm conducting experiments. Experiments that you are interrupting, I might add. Put those things away."

"What?"

"Put those sticks away immediately," Adam ordered. "No one is in any danger here. Lt. Vanderworthy and Private Tyler volunteered to help me collect data." He folded his arms, carefully putting his back to Blue helping Lt. Vanderworthy to his feet, placing himself in between the two sides with the shark mutant lieutenant woozy and unsteady, staggering in Blue's grasp. "What do you want?"

"Him." Caruthers pointed to Brennan. That mutant raised his eyebrows: _who, me? What did I do?_

Adam felt much the same way. This was a different perspective on affairs. "Why?"

"Colonel Bayliss's orders, doctor. He heard about the second shooting, thinks it would be safer for him up at the officer's quarters. We're to take him there now."

"He's not going anywhere," Adam returned testily. "Right now he's a patient under my care. He lost a lot of blood and right now I want him where I can keep an eye on him."

"But the colonel—"

"Brennan is a patient under my care," Adam interrupted. "He's staying here."

Unfortunately for Mutant X, Captain Caruthers was made of sterner stuff. "I'm sorry, Dr. Kane, but the matter is not open for debate. This man is going with us. You can attend him in the colonel's quarters."

"No."

Caruthers put his shark stick back into its holder and folded his arms, glancing pointedly at the six men behind him. "That was not a request, Dr. Kane."

"And I am not—"

"It's all right, Adam," Brennan put in, having assessed the odds: seven to what? Blue couldn't fight—not with a few shark sticks aimed at him and Vanderworthy all but unconscious in his arms. Shalimar: asleep. Brennan himself? Well, he'd had better moments. The only one left to do more than register a verbal protest was Adam himself; no slouch in the arena but not against seven trained soldiers. Besides, give Brennan another day and he'd be back to fighting form. Bayliss wouldn't keep the elemental any longer than Brennan wanted to be kept. Brennan slid his feet to the floor and stood up, wavering. "I'll go. You can keep tabs on…"

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he started to crumble. Adam leaped to catch him with two of the soldiers right behind.

"You see?" Adam snarled. "He's in no shape to go anywhere. Help me get him back onto the stretcher—"

"Move out," Caruthers directed his men. "Carry him, if you have to."

They did. Two of the soldiers hoisted the unconscious elemental into the air, arms hauled over their shoulders, keeping a nervous eye on Adam and the two mutants. Caruthers himself pulled his shark stick back out, ready to defend his prize. Vanderworthy made a limp attempt to get himself together to defend a member of his side, but Blue was ready for his lieutenant and held him back as well as up off of the ground. The soldiers carted Brennan out of the clinic, heedless of the man's state.

Adam watched them go, eyes smoldering. "Nobody," he said, his jaw set in a grim line, "but nobody removes a patient from my care in that fashion." He brought his comm. link to his lips. "Jesse? Jesse? It's Adam. I need you right now."

No answer.

"Jesse? Jesse, come in."

"Uh, doc?" Vanderworthy pulled his teeth back into his head with an effort, striving for coherency. "There's something I gotta tell you…"


	8. Shark 8

There had to be a reason that Jesse's head hurt like the mother of all headaches.

And there had to be a reason that he was rocking back and forth enough to make the most hardened of sailors sea-sick, and that the sun was beating down on him, and there was the smell of salt in the air—

It came back to him: going to his quarters in the guest house. A quick shower, hot and soothing, followed by a solid rap to the back of his skull and collapsing into strong arms behind him as knees turned to jelly. Jesse thought he remembered teeth—lots and lots of _teeth!_—and then nothing more until now.

Which didn't explain the smell of salt, and feeling of nausea. To figure that out, Jesse realized, he was going to have to open his eyes. That in itself was a distinctly unpleasant thought, one that retained a high probability of being followed by the removal of his last meal in a manner that he didn't want to contemplate. He swallowed hard.

"You're awake. Don't try to pretend that you're not."

Jesse ought to know that voice. He'd heard it before, and recently. The rocking increased, and someone hoisted themselves up onto the raft that he was floating on.

Jesse's eyes flew open before he realized that he didn't want to do that. Light flashed in and seared a path of burned neurons into his brain. Reality intruded.

It took thinking several long moments to re-establish itself as the dominant function of his brain, and Jesse realized that he was on a makeshift raft of lashed together logs, floating in the middle of the ocean, with several shark mutants surrounding him. They were in the water, very comfortable. He was on the raft, wet and cold and thoroughly miserable.

All except for one shark mutant, who had perched on one side of the raft in order to drip cold salt water onto him. Jesse groaned, with a leave-me-alone demand implicit in the sound.

"Wake up," the shark mutant insisted. "The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll get to dry land, lubber."

_If I groan again, will they leave me alone to die in peace?_ Jesse tried it.

No good. More water splashed onto him, this time accompanied by a little shake. Jesse gave up trying to ignore them. "What do you want?"

"Wake up and listen."

"I am awake. That's what _you_ said," Jesse replied peevishly, wishing his head didn't hurt. "Believe me, it's not my idea."

He looked around, squinting at the sunlight bouncing off the waves around him. That was what was causing the sea-sickness: the raft was coasting up and down on the ocean. Normally this sort of thing didn't bother Jesse. Amazing what a little rap on the noggin can do. Jesse swallowed hard and commanded his stomach to behave.

"You ready to listen?"

"Don't really have a choice. What do you want from me?" Jesse jerked his thumb at the miles of water around. "If it was shark chum that you were looking for, you'd have dumped me overboard by now. I suppose you have a reason for stranding me in the middle of the Pacific. Am I a hostage for Adam's good behavior?"

"Nope." The Great White crossed his arms, looking squarely at the molecular. Jesse vaguely recalled being introduced to this particular specimen, being impressed by the man's size and girth even for a shark mutant. Warren, that was his name. "You're here because we've got ourselves a use for you."

"Ah. You're assuming I'm going to cooperate. Big assumption." A wave washed over the edge of the raft, re-watering Jesse's pants. He ignored it.

"We've been waitin' for about six months or so for someone like you to come along. Another day or two won't matter." Warren leaned back, striving for nonchalance, going for the got-the-situation-under-control look. It was working. "By the way, lookin' for this?" Warren held up a small gold colored object: Jesse's comm. ring. Jesse's heart sank, and he lifted his chin to compensate.

"What's to stop me from swimming back in?"

"Couple of things. First off, the tide's on its way out. Now, you look like a pretty strong feller, but give you a few miles against the tide, you'll tucker out quick."

"And second?"

Warren jerked his thumb at the shark mutants swimming lazily around the raft, basking in the waves and looking as menacing as the real thing. The only thing missing, Jesse thought, was the dorsal fin that would stick up out of the water. The theme song from "Jaws" sidled through his mind. Warren smirked. "Them." He leaned over. "Now, it's just a guess on my part, but I'm thinking that they—and me—can out swim you any day of the week and have time for a cup of coffee as well. What do you think?"

What did Jesse think? Jesse was thinking that while the human part of these New Mutants were likely to have grown up with the Commandment that talked about not killing thy neighbor, the shark part would have as difficult a time staying under control as Shalimar did. And having seen what could happen when Shalimar lost control—well, Mrs. Kilmartin didn't raise a fool for a son. Actually, she pawned off the raising of her son on various boarding schools, but that was beside the point. The pertinent part of the discussion had to do with making his way back to shore alive. "Suppose I stay right here on this raft? You going to dump me into the drink?"

"Nope." Warren cocked his head. "I figure you got 'nother couple of hours before you're beyond our reach."

"And that means—?"

Warren looked off into the distance. "You can't see it, but we can. Bayliss set up an electric fence around this damn island. None of us can go any further than five miles out from the beach. Beyond that, the electrical fence kicks in, we fry, and unless someone hauls us up to the surface quick like, we drown. Not a real pleasant way to go."

"And I take it I'm drifting out toward that five mile mark."

"You got it."

Jesse considered. "I'm sure all this has a point. Care to share?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Warren regarded him with grim triumph. "You got two hours to agree to do what we say, or you go drifting out to sea to play with our dumb, stupid, and very hungry cousins."

"And what is it that you want me to do?"

"Take down the electric fence."

"Why do I think there's more to this than a simple flipping the switch to 'off'?"

"Bright boy." Warren leaned back. If he had had a piece of straw, he'd have been chewing it like a cow-herder. "The off switch is located 'bout thirty feet below us."

"Below us?" Jesse had a sinking feeling, no pun intended.

"That's right. Bayliss stuck it in a nice little shack under thirty feet of ocean water with some heavy duty padlocks encased in concrete to keep us shark types out. Nobody can get to it. Not us, and not any of his men. We're trapped like tuna in a net."

"That doesn't make sense, even for Colonel Bayliss," Jesse protested. "He has to be able to get you out for missions. How did he sent the four originals out to rescue that ship from the terrorists?"

"Chopper." Warren nodded. "Lifted 'em right out over the fence, mile or so up in the air. Could probably do it with a big battleship, too; quarter us in some of the top levels. See any of 'em around?"

No, Jesse couldn't. He wasn't seeing much of anything except a lot of waves that seemed to be looming higher and higher, the edges breaking over the rim of the raft. And was that a real shark fin cutting through the water over there beyond the 'fence'? Jesse suppressed a shudder. "What's my part in this?"

"You're a mutant that can slide through anything," Warren said. "Your part is the simple stuff. You get inside that water-tight shack, make it so that the net can never be turned back on, and we'll take you back in to land. You'll be a little wet, but you won't be shark bait."

"I'll be a little more than wet. Swimming thirty feet straight down will take a while, and I don't see any oxygen tanks on this raft. I don't have your gills, guy."

"There's air inside the shack. You get there, you get a breather. You don't get in, you drown. Simple enough?"

Jesse plopped himself down on the raft, signaling his refusal to play.

"What?"

"I've got two choices," Jesse explained. "I can die trying to swim down thirty feet, only to run out of air because I don't have enough to exhale when I phase, or I can stay here, wait the two hours for your friends to take a bite, and hope that _my_ friends figure out what's going on before that happens." He levered his arms in the air, pretending to weigh the options on a balance. "Certain death now against potential death in two hours or later. Gee, what's the best solution, Mr. Wizard?"

"Smart ass," Warren muttered. "How about I take a bite out of you right now? Little bitty one, out of your arm, just to show you we mean business?"

"Be my guest. You're not helping your—"

Warren's teeth flashed, striking. Jesse phased solid, felt something crunch on his arm.

Warren yelped. "Hey!" He spit out of couple of teeth; no big deal, he had plenty more waiting to grow in shark style.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? This phasing thing goes both ways." Jesse breathed a sigh of relief: he hadn't been certain that even his diamond hard form would stand up to the power of a shark bite. What were the numbers Morrison had quoted? Two thousand or so pounds of pressure? "Stand off, dude. You can't force me, and I can't force you. You can kill me, but that won't get you anything but a murder charge." He leaned back on the raft, ignoring the water that danced through the air to land on him. He was already soaked; another gallon wouldn't make any difference. Jesse settled down to wait for the tide to wash him out to sea.

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The first feeling that Shalimar felt upon waking was peace. Blissful contentment; none of the ravening hunger that she'd had before. No urge to wrestle some man—any man—to the floor and rip his clothes off. No unconquerable desire to squall at the moon until some tomcat came to relieve her. No, right now what Shalimar enjoyed was the security of being at home in her skin, resting and relaxed.

The second feeling was humiliation. She sat bolt up straight—and cringed. "Adam?"

"Shalimar!" Adam hastened over to the stretcher where she lay. "How do you feel?"

"Adam, what happened?" Shalimar avoided the question. "Did I—?"

"No, you didn't," he quickly reassured her. "Close call, but no, you didn't. Fortunately it was Jesse who found you first, and he brought you in. We sedated you until you could sleep off the effects."

"Effects?" Shalimar was confused. "Effects of what? Wasn't I in--" and she cringed again--"heat?"

"Shark potion." Adam grimaced. "Another thing that Martha 'forgot' to share with me. Some of the mutant's bodily fluids act as an aphrodisiac. That's what has the mutants so upset. They're being attacked for samples and black marketers are selling the results. Lt. Vanderworthy told me about it."

Shalimar frowned. "But I didn't take any potion."

"I found traces on your hand. Lt. Vanderworthy also told me that one of the mutants—Angel, I think he called him, after the angel shark that his DNA was mutated from—makesa habit of selling himself to the black marketers. The others don't think much of him. You must have stumbled onto the spot where the exchange takes place and gotten some on your hand."

"That would explain it." And was a much more palatable explanation than going into heat. Shalimar never wanted to feel that out of control ever again.

Well…maybe _never_ was too strong a word. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it happened with the right person, someone that she wanted to be with. And the time was right. And the mood. Shalimar looked around. "Where's Brennan?"

"Bayliss has him," Adam replied, taking his pencil flash to look into her eyes.

"Colonel Bayliss? Why? What did Brennan do?"

"The excuse is safety. The sniper tried again." Adam filled her in. "And I can't get hold of Jesse. The shark mutants have him, want him to take down the electric fence around the island."

Shalimar looked around her. The clinic appeared distressingly empty. "Adam, what's been going on? Where is everyone?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Adam turned away, satisfied with the feral's recovery. "There are a few too many things that we haven't been told, and I think we deserve some answers. You up to it?"

Shalimar set her chin. "And in the mood for tearing a few limbs off."


	9. Shark 9

In contrast to the rest of the buildings, Colonel Bayliss's office was air-conditioned. Where every other facility took advantage of windows and ushered in slender breezes to keep cool, Bayliss had had installed a window unit and cranked it up until visitors learned to bring a sweater with them. Clearly a man whose formative years were in the northern climes.

That didn't matter to Adam or Shalimar. Tempers were high, and Shalimar had had enough 'heat' to last for the next few years.

Adam wasted no time. "Where's Brennan Mulwray?"

"Your man? The one that got shot?"

"The very one. Where is he, colonel?"

"Last I saw, he was in the clinic, under your care, Dr. Kane—"

"I'm not in a joking mood," Adam interrupted. "Your men took him away, claiming that they had to keep him safe from the sniper. Where is he?"

Bayliss frowned. "I gave no such orders, doctor."

"What are you talking about? Captain Caruthers came to the clinic not two hours ago and removed Brennan forcibly. He said it was by your command, colonel."

"Then he lied." Bayliss leaned forward, placing his hands on his paper-filled desk. "Or you are, Dr. Kane. Dr. Morrison came to me earlier today, recommending that we send you back to the mainline. That you're agitating the sharkies into a frenzy, promising things we have no intention of providing them. I'm beginning to think that she's right. This is not a whore-house, Dr. Kane, and we do not procure women for lonely soldiers whether or not they are mutants. This is a military base—"

"This is a front for a black market operation!" Adam yelled. "Those mutants are being kidnapped and assaulted, and the results sold to drug rings! You're turning a blind eye to the whole thing—"

"I am not having you throw accusations around without proof—"

"The proof is right in front of you—"

"Dammit, Kane—"

"Gentlemen!" Shalimar yelled, slamming her hand down onto the desk with a sharp retort. Both men, startled, shut up. "You're so busy yelling at each other that neither one of you is listening. Now, be quiet!

"You." She turned on Bayliss as the safer of the two. "Your Captain Caruthers took Brennan from the clinic. I was there; I heard and saw him. If Caruthers is not here, then you need to find him now. And you." Adam was next. "Stop accusing Colonel Bayliss until we have all the answers. I was at the site where the sniper was, and where one of the shark mutants was attacked. Colonel Bayliss wasn't there. His scent wasn't there, Adam."

Shalimar turned now so that she was facing both men. "What we need is a way out of this mess. We need to find Brennan. We need to get Jesse out of the shark mutants' hands. We need to stop the black marketers from preying on the shark mutants. That about cover the highlights?"

"We need to stop the shark mutants from terrorizing my men," Bayliss told her. "One look at those teeth grinning at you, and--"

"Stop the black marketers, and the terrorizing will stop," Adam replied. "The shark mutants are scared, and scared men will do foolish things to defend themselves. And don't try to tell me that they aren't men, colonel," he added, wagging his finger at Bayliss. "They're just as much your men as any other on this base. And, speaking of men, where's mine? Where's Brennan?"

"And I told you, I don't know," Bayliss returned testily. "Sergeant!" he bellowed to the outer office. "Find Captain Caruthers ASAP! I want to know what his part in all of this is."

"And Dr. Morrison," Adam tacked on. "There are a few questions that I have for her, like why she told the shark mutants that the skin problem was insurmountable. Fixing that problem alone, colonel, will go a long way toward resolving the issues on this base."

But an hour later, all were forced to admit that neither Captain Caruthers, Dr. Morrison, nor Brennan Mulwray could be found.

"Damn strange," was Bayliss's opinion. "Caruthers is a good second. Something had to have happened to him."

"The same for Martha Morrison," Adam agreed. "This isn't the scientist that I knew." _Way back when I believed in Genomex_, went unsaid. Shalimar could hear the pain in her mentor's voice.

"We need to find them," Shalimar insisted. "And we need help." She lifted her chin. "We need the shark mutants to help us search this island. They're the only ones we can trust."

"Trust? I don't think so, little lady. Those sharkies—"

"Any of your non-mutant men could be black marketers," Shalimar said firmly. "We need the shark mutants."

"Much as I hate to admit it, she's right, colonel," Adam said. "It would take the three of us days to search this base, not knowing who to trust." He sat back down in his chair, prepared to wait. "Call in Lt. Vanderworthy."

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Not good.

The clinic stretcher had gotten even harder, if that was possible, and the hole in his nether portion was throbbing worse than it ever had. He was cold and shivering, and his head hurt. Where the hell was Adam? He'd never, in the time that Brennan had known him, let any of his 'kids' get this bad. _Drugs_, dude, pain-killers prescribed by his own personal physician for legitimate personal purposes. Time to use a few.

At least it was dark.

Where were the covers, the blanket? Why couldn't he hear the voices of Adam, of Shalimar and Jesse, even of Dr. Morrison—

Shit.

It all came back to him: the soldiers dragging him out of the clinic; literally dragging him, since independent locomotion had been beyond his capabilities at the time. Probably still was, if the way he felt was any indication. Adam had been right, Brennan needed more treatment and rest. And this situation _so_ did not fit the doctor's prescription. What the hell was going on?

He must have passed out, because remembering how he got to his present location was also a blur. It clearly wasn't Bayliss's quarters or anything close to that. Brennan couldn't imagine the colonel putting up with this lack of amenities. Which meant that Brennan was going to have the make the supreme sacrifice of opening his eyes to figure out just where the hell he was, what obstacles whoever had put in his way to keep him here, and hopefully as much additional information as he needed to blast the crap out of each and every one of them.

He felt for his comm. link; missing. No surprise there. Someone knew about that and knew how to deactivate it. Couldn't use something if it wasn't there, and as for location? Two strikes against him. Not only was it not on his finger attached to the rest of his body, but Adam and Jesse had no handy computer equipment with detection devices.

Okay, eyes: open. Thus commanded, his eyes realized that they were glued shut with sleep. Brennan rubbed until he could pry them open, then wished that he hadn't.

Note to self: islands have caves. Not particularly deep ones—Sanctuary came to mind—but a cave nonetheless. It kept off the wind from three sides, and if a passing shower came along he would only get soggy instead of drenched. Wonderful. He could see himself explaining to Adam about how he came down with pneumonia by not having sense enough to get out of the rain after being shot.

This was _so_ not turning out to be an enjoyable mission. White sandy beaches? Warm ocean sea breezes? Lazing in the tropical sun? Brennan devoutly wished that the next mission would be to some place more pleasant. Antarctica, maybe.

Three soldiers stood in front of the erstwhile cave, weapons held casually against their chests, ready to swing into action should anyone approach. Brennan felt for the electrons at his fingertips. Gone. Empty. Dead battery time. His fever had siphoned all his energy away.

Fever? Damn. That's why he felt so miserable, cold and shivering. Sure wasn't the tropical sun.

One of the soldiers glanced in at him. "I'd stay down if I were you," he mentioned in a casual tone of voice. "Last time you stood up, you nearly cracked your skull open. You're as stupid as the shark mutants. Must be a mutant thing, stupidity."

Maybe. But, obnoxious as it was, the soldier's advice sounded like the best thing for now. In another year, when he felt better, then he'd blast them into their constituent atoms. For now, time for another nap. Assuming that the shakes would let him.

Damn it, what good was having a feral around if she couldn't track him down? How big was this damn island anyway?

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"No. Sir," Lt. Vanderworthy tacked on, keeping the military respect present in words if not in actions.

"That was not a request, lieutenant."

"I'm aware of that, sir. And again I must respectfully decline to comply, sir." Vanderworthy stood ramrod straight in Colonel Bayliss's office, arms clasped behind his back, staring off at a point in space six inches from the colonel's nose.

But he couldn't fail to see that nose growing redder and redder by the moment as the colonel's blood pressure rose in frustration. And neither could Adam.

"Are you refusing to obey a direct order?"

Vanderworthy remained at attention. "Yes, sir, I am, sir."

"I'll have you court-martialed for this, lieutenant!"

"Yes, sir." And the shark mutant couldn't help but add, "that won't make any difference in my circumstances, sir. I am already a prisoner, and held without trial or military due process. As long as that fence is up, I and my men are being held against our will on this base, sir."

"That fence is there by my order, lieutenant!"

"Yes, sir. And none of us has left this island since we volunteered to be part of Dr. Morrison's experiment, sir."

"You volunteered!"

"Yes, sir. But none of us volunteered to become prisoners on an island in the middle of the ocean. That was not what we were told this experiment would be. We were offered an opportunity to enhance our physical characteristics so that we could better serve our country, sir."

"You're not prisoners!" Bayliss expostulated.

"Begging the colonel's pardon, but we are, sir. The rest of the men here on this base go on leave every few weeks, and home for a few weeks on the mainland to see family. None of us mutants have left this island since the experiment began, with the exception of Private Tyler who went on a mission. We can't go home, and we can't even take our leave out at sea. Our communications are censored and confiscated. We're prisoners, sir," Vanderworthy finished, almost pleading with the colonel to understand.

The colonel was not in an understanding sort of mood. "I am _ordering_ you to participate in this search for Mulwray!"

"I'm sorry, sir. No, sir."

"I'll have you court-martialed—"

"What do you want?" Adam broke in.

"Sir?"

"What do you want?" Adam repeated. "I don't have time for this arguing. Brennan is missing, Jesse is trapped out at sea, and Shalimar and I can't search this whole island ourselves. What do you want for your help? I'm already making the ointment which will solve your," he coughed, "social problems."

Finally. Someone who was listening. Vanderworthy unbent slightly. "The electric fence comes down."

"Done." Adam turned to Bayliss. "Turn off the fence. Right now."

"No."

"Turn off the fence, or I'll do it myself."

"Go right ahead," Bayliss challenged. "It won't work. The controls here in my office are frozen solid. They don't work any more. The only way to take down the fence is to blow the control booth up, and that control booth is thirty feet underwater. But you take enough explosives to do the job, the other nations will notice and think we're going to war. You want that, Dr. Kane? You want to start a war? Over one man? Even over thirty?"

"You can explain the situation—"

"Before or after they start lobbing bombs in this direction? Politicians aren't the calmest of people, or haven't you noticed that, Dr. Kane?" Bayliss too was frustrated at the situation. "Despite the lieutenant's empassioned pleas, there are very good reasons why he and his men are not being paraded in front of the world. One hint of the kind of experiments that are going on and the world will move that much closer to a nuclear holocaust. Perhaps you're willing to take that responsibility, Dr. Kane, but I am not. And I am in charge of this base."

"Not now you're not," Adam fired back. "You've got a black market going on under your nose, you've got a sniper taking pot shots at my man, and you've got an entire platoon of shark mutants who are defying your commands. Does that sound like you're in charge? Sit down and shut up while I fix your problems!" He turned back to Lt. Vanderworthy with a false calm. "I can tell Jesse Kilmartin to phase into the shack if you can get him down the thirty feet of sea water before he drowns. But I need your word, and the word of your men, that you will not expose this experiment to outsiders no matter what the temptation. Colonel Bayliss is correct; the world is a very uneasy place at this point in history and revealing this experiment could tilt things in the wrong direction. None of us sitting here want that on our conscience, and there will no longer be a fence between you and the public."

"Done." There was no hesitation in Vanderworthy's voice.

"You can speak for your men."

"My men and I have already had this conversation, Dr. Kane. Consider it a fact, for both me and my men."

"Good. What else to assure your cooperation?"

"Crack down on the black market. No more kidnapping and assaulting my men."

"And how am I supposed to accomplish that?" Bayliss wanted to know. "Commanders have been trying to do that for centuries. You expect me to solve that in twenty four hours?"

"I'm not talking about the entire black market," Vanderworthy returned, "just the one that assaults shark mutants. The little pilferage that goes on to keep the jeeps in running condition can stay."

"Done," Adam said before Bayliss could open his mouth again. "We'll set up a sting operation while the rest of the shark mutants are searching the island. If we can have one of you act as bait, I'll have Shalimar film the whole operation as it takes place and then take down the guilty parties. We'll have them identified and exposed, and put in front of a military tribunal. Good enough?"

"Dr. Kane," Lt. Vanderworthy said with a sideways look at his commanding officer, "you have a deal."


	10. Shark 10

_Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink_. The phrase danced through Jesse's mind with all the delicacy of a Great White, of whom there were plenty of mutant examples cavorting in the waves between him and the shore. The raft was soaked, Jesse was soaked, and it looked he was coming dangerously close to the invisible fence that would prevent the shark mutants from hauling both raft and molecular back to terra firma. _A little hasty in turning down the shark mutants' oh-so-courteously phrased request, were we?_

No. Good guys didn't kidnap fellow mutants and try to force them into questionable activities. There had to be an ulterior motive, something that the shark mutants hadn't divulged. And what was to prevent Warren and the others from simply leaving Jesse out in the middle of the ocean to drown once the fence was down? They would have what they wanted. Jesse knew he was a strong swimmer but five miles to shore was too far even for him.

Where the hell was Adam and Shalimar? The feral should have woken up by now, and they should be wondering why there was a Jesse-sized hole in their conversational grouping. Not for the first time Jesse heartily wished that Warren hadn't taken his ring from him. Worst case scenario, Adam and Shalimar could have hijacked a convenient chopper and flow out to pick him up.

But they couldn't pick him up if they couldn't find him. Five miles didn't sound all that far, but make that a five mile radius around a twenty mile island and the search area became a tad unwieldy.

An arm sliced through the waves: Warren was returning. _Coming to gloat, shark boy? Come to try one more time before letting me wash out to sea?_

Warren had other things in mind. Shooting up from the water, the shark mutant landed easily on the edge of the raft, leaving his legs to dangle in the cold water. He held up his hand, and something shiny glittered in the sunlight: Jesse's ring. Also known as his comm. link. The very device that would allow him to contact Adam. Salvation.

Jesse debated snatching at the gold band. Was he faster than the shark mutant? Hmm. Was he faster than a feral? Experimental evidence produced by a certain blonde of his acquaintance said no. Jesse waited.

But Warren simply handed it over. "Put it on."

"What?"

"Put it on," Warren repeated impatiently. "Your boss needs to talk to you."

Jesse obeyed. The band shivered in simulated relief at being back where it belonged, a slender light playing along the metal.

"Go on. Talk."

Jesse cautiously raised his hand to his lips. "Adam?"

"Jesse!" The relief in the older man's voice was evident. "Are you all right?"

"A little water-logged, but intact. What's going on?"

"No time for that. Listen, they tell me that there's a submerged shack about thirty feet down that holds the controls to the electric fence that encircles the island."

"That's what they've told me, too. How does that figure into the problem?"

"Brennan's been kidnapped, and the price for the shark mutants' help in finding him is taking down the fence."

Jesse digested both facts. "And I take it that this fence razing can't be done from your location."

"No. The remote control is fried in Colonel Bayliss's office, and has been for some time. The only person who can get in and out of that under water shack is you, Jesse."

"Adam, I hate to break it to you, but that shack is thirty feet straight down. There's no way I'll have enough breath to swim down and then phase inside. Isn't there another plan? Something involving dynamite, for example?"

"No good, Jesse. Other military powers in the area would detect it and panic. No, we've got it figured out, Vanderworthy and I. Sergeant Warren will tow you down to the shack so that it won't take more than fifteen or twenty seconds. You'll have plenty of air left to phase into the place, and there's more air inside the shack. Disable the controls and take down the fence. Do that, and the shark mutants will help us search the island for Brennan."

Jesse flicked a glance at Warren who was still waiting, sitting on the edge of the raft, ready to slip back into the watery depths. "You sure about this, Adam?"

"Completely sure," Adam said stoutly, which meant that Adam had about as much faith in this plan as did Jesse himself. But it also meant that Adam thought they had no better options. _Play along, Jesse. Don't mess up the scheme that I'm dreaming up. We need to rescue Brennan._

"All right." Jesse signed off, and turned to Warren. "You win. I'll turn off your damn fence." _Don't make it sound too easy, Jesse-me-boy. Let's keep the teeth people guessing._ "Just remember that I don't have your gills, and I'm not that good at holding my breath." _Lie. But they don't need to know that_. "Tow the raft to over the site of the shack. The less time I have to spend not breathing, the faster I can do the job."

"Already there," Warren responded with a smirk. Jesse stared at him. "You think we're gonna let you go out of our reach? After all the trouble we went to put you here? Let's just say we were confident that we'd be able to convince you to do it our way. Eventually." Warren slid off of the raft and into the water, bobbing gently with the waves. "We held the raft from underneath. Easy to do when you don't have to hold your breath, lubber."

"Hah." When did things slide out of control? But, steeling himself, Jesse lowered himself into the cold ocean waters, wishing that he had whatever bio-controls the shark mutants had to avoid feeling the frigid temperatures, waiting for his body to acclimate itself to its new surroundings.

"You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Jesse took a deep breath.

Warren pulled him under. In a short moment Jesse found himself towed through the water at a pace faster than an Olympic swimmer, faster than he ever dreamed possible. The water grew darker as less sunlight filtered through the water, the fish nearby peering at the pair with undisguised amazement.

The shack was small, barely big enough to contain a man, let alone a generator and room to work. But no time for that now; Warren was holding on to Jesse's arm, preventing him from floating upward.

Air was getting scarce. Time to act: Jesse exhaled, phasing to insubstantial, and pushed himself into the tiny building.

Almost out of breath; Jesse dropped to his knees, gasping for oxygen. The air inside the shack smelled foul and stale, product of remaining too long in one location without means of circulation. But that was unimportant: it was breathable. And it wasn't water. An inch or so of the liquid stuff had slowly seeped in over the past months to provide a wet surface to stand in—must have been what shorted out the controls back on dry land, Jesse realized. Also unimportant. Jesse glanced around, estimated that he had some ten to fifteen minutes of breathable air before he sucked all the oxygen out of the shack. Better get to it.

The generator sparked. Not a problem; it had likely been sparking periodically for weeks if not months. Jesse traced the wires back, hoping to simply disable it or re-enable the distant controls in Bayliss's office. It would be nice to be able to put the fence up again. Keep the real sharks from the beaches, if nothing else. Better for recreational swimming by those unable to out-swim a tiger shark.

Jesse took a breath, realized that he had to take another one to keep his head from swimming, water not included. _Air is getting foul_, he thought, _faster than I'd anticipated_. Better hurry this up. He blinked, willing the wires to stay straight as he looked at them.

There. That was the one. Water had dripped in, rust had formed, and a short circuit had bridged itself across the lines. Pulling those apart should take down the fence and hopefully restore the landside controls, although that last part Jesse would not have wanted to bet the farm on. No, for right now, taking down the fence and getting back to the surface of the ocean sounded like the priority.

And the walls were closing in.

_Not now_, Jesse chanted to himself, refusing to say the words aloud. _This room is not too small. There is enough air to breathe. I have a job to do. Brennan is depending on me._

It was the last line that did it, the thought that kept him going: _Brennan is depending on me_. _Adam and Shalimar are depending on me_. The air became thick and stifling, and Jesse could no longer tell whether it was his own tortured thoughts choking him or whether it was the lack of oxygen. _Claustrophobia._ _Gotta love it_.

Time to finish this. Steeling himself, Jesse swiftly grabbed the two offending wires and ripped them apart.

The unexpected shock threw him back into the wall. Afterward, Jesse would never be able to say whether he blacked out from the electrocution or from hitting his head but in the long run, it didn't matter.

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Lt. Vanderworthy turned to the others in Colonel Bayliss's office. "The fence is down. Let's go. My men are waiting outside."

"You can tell that the fence is gone from in here?" Adam was amazed.

"You tested my senses, Dr. Kane," Vanderworthy reminded him. "Believe me: the fence is inactive." He turned to Shalimar. "Ready, Ms. Fox?"

"Let's go," Shalimar replied grimly. "We've got a black market to stop and an elemental to track down."

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Vanderworthy listened to his own comm. unit, half hidden in the island brush and trees. The sun had gone done, and it was difficult to see the large shark mutant in the darkness. "Not yet. They're still looking. Shouldn't be too much longer. To us the man glows in the dark. He's a damn homing beacon."

"Then why haven't you found him?" Shalimar grumbled from her perch in a tree, vidcam in hand.

"Why haven't you found the black marketers yet?" Vanderworthy replied reasonably.

Shalimar was not in the mood to be reasonable, she was in the mood to tear something—or someone—apart. The black marketers would do nicely if they ever had the guts to show up and take the bait.

And Blue was currently serving as that bait, nervous as a sparrow in a nest of kittens. He trotted slowly along the trail where the most assaults had taken place, a trail that up until now the shark mutants had avoided as though it were plague-ridden. He wore his fatigues not because he particularly wanted to—all the shark mutants these days preferred to wear as little as possible, spend as much time in the water as possible, and generally act as though they weren't human—but because once the assault began he and Vanderworthy wanted as much evidence as possible. Getting clothes ripped off would go over big in a military court of law, especially if Blue kept his deadly teeth decently inside his mouth. _No use upsetting the unwitting authorities…_

Shalimar perked up her ears. "Stay alert," she murmured, her own feral senses more potent than those of the shark mutants on dry land. _To each his own…_ She readied the vidcam, shifting it in her fingers. Beside her, Vanderworthy too came on point.

It happened very quickly; the black marketers were experienced and knew how to handle an unwilling victim without getting bitten. The first approached from the front: the distraction. The second lunged from the back, sweeping Blue's feet out from under him. Blue gurgled and went down, his shark senses twisted when on his back. The third dropped across Blue, pinning him to the ground, just in case the flat-on-the-back thing wasn't enough.

Vanderworthy clenched his fists, waiting, agonizing over watching this happen to one of his men, knowing that this had to happen to free the rest. Shalimar spared no time for sympathy; her job was to film this in living color, get the evidence that no one could dispute.

"Damn good day," one of the three assailants laughed. "Second one today. We'll make a killing on the main land."

"Get his pants down," the second advised, "and don't count your chickens until we milk them."

"Don't," Blue cried out, making it artistic, knowing that the cameras were sucking up every move, every sound. He struggled, weak and helpless on his back. The three just laughed. The noise made Shalimar grit her teeth. They would pay! She aimed her vidcam at the scene, catching every detail, every piece of the action.

The men knew what they were doing. One stroked Blue's belly in a mock parody of gentleness, pinning the shark mutant down with that motion alone. Blue gasped and moaned, barely able to breathe under such ministrations, his mutation preventing him from retaliating. The other two wrestled with his fatigues, wrenching them down to expose the shark mutant's delicacies. The flag pole rose as the belly massage continued. _More than one way to a shark mutant's heart…_

Blue's face reddened as the men continued to fondle him. Shalimar could guess what was going through the mutant's mind: not only was he being assaulted in this grotesque fashion, but it was being filmed for distribution to a very high level audience. He groaned; humiliation didn't begin to cover this topic. _This had better be worth it…!_

The black marketers forced the shark mutant into a frenzy, gasping and panting, collecting the desired specimen in a bag they had waiting.

"Little slut," the first one sneered. "Coming up here all alone. You must want this, just like Angel."

"Gonna come back for more, slut?" the second jeered. "I'll be waiting for you. Got a nice little pecker there. Come on back, and I'll make you scream for me. Wouldn't you like that, little shark slut?"

"Bastards," Blue ground out, barely able to speak. "Get off of me!"

"Ooh, I think we're making him mad," the first grinned.

"Better make sure that he can't get up too quick," the second gloated. "Want me to hurt you, little shark slut?"

"Don't damage him," the third warned. "There's only a limited supply of these sluts. We'll want to milk him again—"

They had enough evidence. It was all on tape, every stinking bit of it. All that remained was take the black marketers into custody with the evidence in their hands. Shalimar looked forward to it.

The only part that didn't satisfy her was that the black marketers didn't put up a fight.

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"Fence down, black market shut down," Adam announced to the room at large, focusing on Lt. Vanderworthy, "so where's Brennan?"

Vanderworthy nodded; Adam Kane had indeed kept his part of the bargain. Colonel Bayliss glowered in the background as the shark mutant lieutenant crossed to the map on the wall displaying the features of the island. He pointed to an interior portion that looked to be the highest point. "Here."

"All right. Let's go." Adam turned back to see that Vanderworthy hadn't budged. "What?"

"Not going, Dr. Kane."

"What do you mean, not going? We agreed—"

"We _agreed_," Vanderworthy emphasized, "to participate in the search, sir. Not the rescue. That would be impossible for us. The elemental is putting out so much power in his electrical field that none of us can get near him." He folded his arms. "We have each lived up to our part of the bargain, sir. The fence is down, the black market crushed, and we have located your man. Contract complete."

"And you call yourselves mutants," Adam snarled, frustrated. Beside him, Shalimar too hissed angrily. If she had had one, her tail would have been shooting off sparks. Big electrical ones, aimed at Vanderworthy. Adam activated his comm. link. "Jesse? Jesse, come in. I need you back here. How far from land are you?"

Silence.

"Jesse?" Adam looked at Vanderworthy suspiciously. "What have you done with him?"

"Nothing, sir." Vanderworthy remained formal. "But I regret to inform you that after de-activating the fence, your man never emerged from the shack."

"And you're telling me this _now_?"

"You have your objectives, sir, and I have mine. I had an obligation to my men to see mine through without distracting you with other concerns. That has been accomplished, and we stand ready to assist you in whatever fashion we can."

"Whatever fashion—?" Adam was appalled. "You refuse to help rescue Brennan. You leave Jesse in the middle of the ocean to die. What kind of help is that?"

"We can't get close to Brennan," Vanderworthy responded, "and, as before, we can't enter the shack. He—" and Vanderworthy jerked his thumb at Bayliss, "—made sure of that. We waited for your man to come out; we would have towed him in to shore. He never came out."

"You—" Adam didn't know what to say. If anger had been electricity, Vanderworthy would have fried where he stood. Adam looked around helplessly; his team was going under. "Shalimar—?"

"I'm going after Brennan." There was no way for her to reach Jesse, but the elemental was on the island, and she had a rough location, thanks to the shark mutants.

"You'll need help. There's too many of them," Adam said despairingly.

The smile that played over the feral's lips had nothing to do with good humor. "You leave that up to me, Adam. I _will_ get him out." _And tear off a few limbs while I'm at it_, hung in the air.

"Sir." It was Blue, up to now doing a fine job of blending with the woodwork. "Lieutenant, request permission to assist Ms. Fox."

Vanderworthy looked startled. "You know what you're asking, Private?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be careful, sir. But I can speed up the recovery process quite a bit, sir."

Vanderworthy set his jaw. "Permission granted, private."

"Thank you," Shalimar said, meaning it. She turned back to Adam. "You be careful. Brennan is going to need you when we get him back." She spared a glance for Bayliss. "The rest we can leave for Dr. Morrison."

Adam chose to believe her; he had nothing left to lose. "I'll find Jesse," he promised, trying to keep the break from his voice. "I'll bring him back." Another line drifted between them: _dead or alive, I'll bring him back_. He turned to Bayliss. "I'll need a fast boat, radar, and a wet suit with a tank. And access to your armory."

"What are you going to do?" Bayliss asked suspiciously. "You can't blow the shack up. You'll alert the other forces in the area."

"Shaped charges," Adam said, daring the other man to challenge him. "I'll take the top off of the shack, and it will never make a blip on the radar. It wouldn't have worked before with the fence in operation—it would have sent out an electric shock wave that would kill every shark mutant for three miles around but now that the fence is down, we can use it."

"Water will rush in. He'll drown."

"And while we wait, he's suffocating." Adam had had enough. "Get out of my way, Bayliss."

"Now, see here—"

"This is on your head!" Adam yelled, pushed beyond anger. "If you hadn't done such a damn poor job of running this base, this wouldn't be happening! Now, get out of my way before I run you over!"

"There's a boat at the pier," Vanderworthy said. "Take that." He too turned his attention to Bayliss. "You can either give Dr. Kane the key, sir, or I'll hotwire the engine myself. Sir." Back to Adam: "I'll have Sgt. Warren get out the charges. He does detail in there; he'll know what you need."


	11. Shark 11

No air.

Blackness.

Small space. Crackling sparking wires.

Jesse couldn't stand it. Everything was closing in on him. How long had he been inside? Didn't matter; the air was suffocating him. He had to get out, now, before—before, he didn't know what, but he had to get out.

He phased out of the shack.

And started choking on sea water.

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Blue had to hurry to keep up with her, the feral striding purposefully across the base courtyard. Hot tropical sunlight beat down on them both."Miss, wait! Shalimar!" he finally called, taking her arm to slow her down. "Shalimar, there are something like twenty black market types up on that mountain with Mulwray, all of 'em armed to the teeth. You can't possibly take them out yourself, not even as a feral! That's not realistic. You'll get yourself killed, andMulwray too. You'll need an army to break him out."

"I'm not going there alone," Shalimar snarled. "I'm taking a well-armed escort of fighting men."

"Huh?"

"Watch this," she snapped, and leaped up onto a tall pile of crates where everyone could see her. "Yo! Grunts! Listen up!"

There were some fifty men in the vicinity, men who hadn't beennear a woman for several weeks if not months. They would have paid close attention to any woman, no matter how unpleasant or ugly.

Shalimar Fox was considerably better off.

"I've got a friend being held hostage up on the mountain," she yelled. "Anybody interested in helping me break him out? Anybody up for a fight?"

Prospect of a fight: _attention-getting_. Chance to work off some of the tension building up on base: _better chance of fun_. Heavy-duty male bonding while performing a good deed: _great_. Earning the gratitude of the drop dead gorgeous creature parading in front of them: fifty brains went on hiatus and fifty libidos took over. They cheered wildly. And grabbed their guns.

Shalimar looked at Blue. A satisfied smirk crept across her face."I've got my army."

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Lt. Vanderworthy took the explosives from Adam's hands. "Here, let me, Dr. Kane."

Adam looked at the shark mutant suspiciously. Vanderworthy had insisted on accompanying him out to the site of the underwater shack, even unbending so much as to ride in the colonel'sdinghy instead of swimming alongside. The deck rolled underneath their feet, waves lapping at the sides of the craft. Adam shook his head. "I can do it."

"I was trained for this," Vanderworthy said quietly. "I was designed with underwater demolition work in mind; Special Ops. Remember?"

Adam did remember. He also remembered Vanderworthy telling him about Jesse being missing too late to do anything. "Why?"

Vanderworthy didn't pretend not to understand. "Times like this, people die. Nobody wants them to, but it was either your one man or my two dozen. If he had gotten himself out, we would have towed him to the surface and made sure that he got safely back to land. Even if we'd told you earlier, there would have been nothing that you could have done to change the outcome. We knew he was a dead man as soon as ten minutes were up and he hadn't come out. There was nothing you could have done," Vanderworthy repeated.

"He's not dead," Adam insisted.

"I went down there myself, later, just to check," Vanderworthy said gently. "He didn't come out. He was nowhere in the vicinity.I'm sorry, Dr. Kane."

"He's not dead! We'll find him!"

Vanderworthy shrugged; he wasn't going to argue the point. "Give me the charges," he repeated, taking them from Adam's hands. "Johnson, help Dr. Kane gear up."

"You're not objecting to me going down?"

"Would it do any good?" Vanderworthy cocked his head. "Besides, no matter what I find, you're going to want to see for yourself; you're going to want closure for his death. I argue with brass, Dr. Kane, when it will do me some good. I try not to get into hopeless situations. Stay here on board until after I blow the lid off of that shack, and I'll escort you down myself. Safer that way, too; some of the Great Whites—the real ones—are exploring territory that they've not seen for the last several months." With that, he slipped over the side of the small boat and disappeared into the water.

Adam went inside the cockpit and followed Vanderworthy's progress as best as he could with sonar, the mutant swimming through his men on his mission to the ocean floor. He saw one green blip among many seem to hover over one spot when Vanderworthy descended almost straight down, saw the blip stationary while the charges were placed. Then all of the green blips scattered away from point zero in a rush.

Private Johnson pulled the scientist outside. "You'll want to watch this out here," he said.

The shark mutants in the area were all fleeing the scene to escape the blast. The shock wave would travel quickly through the water, and no one wanted to be caught. There wouldn't be any electricity with this particular explosion, but plenty of power up close and personal.

Water geysered up, the sound of the explosion muffled by thirty feet of sea water. At the same instant, ten shark mutants leaped out of the water, shooting themselves as high into the air as they could.

Adam understood instantly. "Of course! They escape the shock of the explosion by changing their environment. The energy of the shock wave is diminished by changing from water to air."

Johnson nodded. "You got it, sir." He jerked his thumb toward the pile of equipment in the corner. "Let me give you a hand with the wet suit. You'll be wanting to inspect the ruins yourself." Like his superior, Johnson seemed to have no doubt that Jesse Kilmartin was not alive and well in that shack. Adam felt a shiver of fear run up and down his spine. _These are shark mutants, able to sense the electrical fields from any living being. They would know if Jesse was alive…_

But Lt. Vanderworthy boiled up from the ocean floor before Adam could finish donning his gear. "Dr. Kane! Dr. Kane! He's not there!"

"What?" Adam rushed to the side of the boat. "He must have phased out after you abandoned the area." He glanced at the cockpit of the boat, thinking. "I'll need to calculate the flow of the tides, wind velocity. We'll set up a search pattern—"

"No need." Vanderworthy slapped the water with the flat of his hand: a signal. "Sharks! Listen up! Mega search pattern Beta Delta Delta! Go! Go! Go!" Shark mutants leapt away at his order, twenty fanning out in a semi-circle, half at a lower depth. Only a couple remained behind to search in the opposite direction.

"But—"

Vanderworthy's smile was a little crooked. "You can do your calculations, Dr. Kane, but we can _feel_ the way the water's going. We'll cover all the bases, but if he's in the water, we'll _find_ him. Stay here."

As if Adam had a choice. He dumped his oxygen tank back onto the pile of equipment.

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_Crap_.

Everything hurt, from his tush to his toes and up to the top of his head. He felt hot, he felt cold, he felt like crap.

This was _so_ not good. Brennan could feel the electricity leaking out of him like water through a thoroughly soaked paper towel, puddling onto the floor around him. His captors wouldn't notice, not being shark mutants, but he had no doubt that Blue would take one look and go flying off in the opposite direction. Which meant that Adam, Jesse, and Shalimar would have no help in breaking him out of this island prison. Which meant that he was stuck, because although the three were good, Brennan had already counted over two dozen black market types with lots of guns to keep him right where they wanted him. Even if Mutant X could break him out, there would be a lot of death and destruction wreaked which Brennan didn't particularly want on his conscience.

Yes, perhaps just lying here and dying swiftly would be the best option. It would certainly make _him_ feel better.

They wouldn't let him.

"Give him some water," one voice said. Brennan strained to remember who it belonged to, then wished he hadn't: Captain Caruthers. Second in command. Hard-boiled ass, lots of soldiers looking up to him and, apparently, making mountains of money off of assaulted shark mutants. _Nothing like a fortune or two to ensure loyalty_. Somebody raised Brennan's head, and another held a glass to his lips. Brennan gulped greedily, unable to help himself, unable to slow down until the hands forced him to back off. Then there was the feeling of nausea as his stomach debated whether or not to cooperate in the process of relieving his thirst. Brennan fought to keep from moaning. _About the only fight I can put up right now. Crap._

And his comm. link was missing. Caruthers was no fool. Even with his head spinning, Brennan understood the plan: use Brennan to capture shark mutants to feed the black market. Lose Brennan, with the island going up in flames, and shark teeth were likely to come into play. Vanderworthy's men wouldn't wait for a court-martial.

"How is he?"

"Not too good, captain."

Truer words were never spoken. Brennan resolved to die and end his misery as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately for his plans, they wouldn't let him.


	12. Shark 12

"That direction." Blue pointed through the tropical trees, the brush covering the sand at their feet. "He stands out like a beacon. It's close." The shark mutant shivered, tremors evident. The rifle in his hand rattled metallically in sympathy. "I'm not gonna be able to get much closer without flopping over onto the ground, Ms. Fox. I won't be of much use to you from here on out."

"Call me Shalimar," Shalimar murmured for the millionth time. She tilted her head up, testing the air. "You're right. He's close, and he's hurting. The sweat is pouring off of him. He's feverish." She sniffed again, and frowned. "Many people around him, and I smell gunpowder, which means that they're armed. I also smell Morrison. What's she doing here?" Shalimar sniffed again, the scents of the area telling her a bedtime story that she really didn't like: this was another site where shark mutants had been assaulted. One scent seemed familiar; she turned to Blue. "They recently took another shark mutant right here on the ground in front of us, Blue, that shark mutant by the name of Danzig."

Blue frowned. "When?"

Shalimar inhaled, searching for the diffuse odor molecules. "Yesterday, I think."

"Before the sniping incident?"

That came out of the blue. Shalimar blinked. "Probably. After all this time I can't be certain. Why?"

"Let's just say that Eric Danzig hasn't been one of our most stable mutations." Blue unlimbered his radio. "Yo, boss. Come in."

"Private? I thought you were on radio silence."

"No time. Listen, Danzig got slutted, probably yesterday or so. I told him to take it deep, but you know how he is. And now Ms. Fox found his scent up here. I'm kinda concerned, boss."

"Right. Thanks for telling me, Private. I'll take care of it." Vanderworthy clicked off the communication channel.

Shalimar looked at Blue balefully. "What was that all about?"

Blue looked sheepish. "We may have found our sniper. Like the lieutenant said, we'll take care of it. We take care of our own."

"Right. Before or after he shoots Brennan?"

"He's not here, is he?" Blue asked innocently. "We'll find him, Ms. Fox. You can count on that. Danzig's a good fish."

"Right," Shalimar all but snarled. But Blue was correct, no matter whether Danzig was the sniper or not, the shark mutant wasn't in the vicinity and Brennan and a few dozen well-armed black marketers were. _Priorities, girl!_ She came to a decision and turned to the non-coms beside her who had followed like moths after a blazing flame. "You. Take a dozen men and circle to the right. You, take another dozen to the left. The rest of you prepare for a frontal assault in ten minutes, on my signal."

"We'll kill the hostage," the non-com objected.

"Not if I can help it."

"Miss, you can't go in there—"

"The hell I can't." Shalimar's eyes yellowed. She bared her teeth. The non-com gulped, suddenly understanding that the sweet and innocent little thing crouched next to him was as dangerous as any shark mutant. He gulped again. These mutant types were _dangerous_! "Ten minutes. Then open fire."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The water was no longer cold. His teeth weren't chattering any more, and his thoughts were wandering. In his more lucid moments, Jesse realized that hypothermia was setting in. What a relief; it meant that soon he could give up the fight to keep his head above water and slip away into the watery depths. Better to drown than to become shark bait. He'd seen something large and lethal in the murky waters below. It hadn't paid attention to him, but Jesse had no doubt that there were more in the vicinity and getting chomped into bits sounded infinitely more painful than inhaling a couple lungs' worth of water.

He drifted. Water splashed over his head.

"Jesse? Jesse, can you hear me?" The sound gurgled as it came out of his comm. link.

_Yeah, but talking with a mouth full of sea spray ain't gonna happen, Adam_.

"Jesse, come in! Dammit, Jesse, answer me!"

_Kinda_ _busy dying here, Adam. Talk to you next Tuesday_.

Something seized him by the arm. Jesse felt a momentary alarm: _damn. Shark bait after all. Oh, well; at least it'll be quick. I hope._

"You," said an angry voice in his ear. Jesse would have jumped in surprise if he could have mustered the energy. Right now the only thing keeping his head above water was the sandpaper covered hand under his shoulder.

_Yeah, me._ _You were expecting someone else?_

"You were the one shielding that damn electrical mutie. I would've nailed him if you hadn't gotten in the way."

_Hope you weren't expecting me to respond to that statement. I'm only doing questions right now. I can groan, if you'd like._

"Not so brave when you don't have a shark stick, are you?"

_Not doing brave, either. That's for next week's episode_.

Something large bumped him. Through blurred vision Jesse could just make out a large and stream-lined mammal. It appeared to be a shark mutant, but under the circumstances Jesse wasn't going to guarantee it. Not until he could persuade more than three brains cells to work at the same time.

"That could have been your arm, lubber."

_I'm only half-appreciating the adrenaline that's kicking in right now. It's waking me up, but awake is not necessarily good_. Jesse's sight cleared: Danzig, one of the shark mutants, was circling him in slow, lazy, and angry tight rings. The shark mutant bumped him again, this time from underneath. Jesse felt teeth scrape along his leg.

"If you're going to kill me, do and get it over with," he croaked. A wave splashed over his head, and he took an involuntary mouthful, choking.

"What'samatter, you don't like getting played with?" The sarcasm was heavy. "You like playing with _us_. You like slutting us, like feeling us up, don't you, lubber? Not so brave now that you don't have Mr. Shark Stick Mutant nearby to save your sorry ass."

_Oh, shit_. The pieces fell into place. "You're the one who took a shot at Brennan."

"Would'a had 'im, too, if you hadn't gotten in the way, lubber." Danzig bumped him again from behind. He spoke coldly into Jesse's ear. "Gonna make you beg for me to kill you. Gonna play with you just like you played with me, lubber. Gonna make you scream."

_I'd rather be hypothermic, if you don't mind_.

A sharp watery swat across his thighs came too close for comfort; Jesse doubled over in the water in sudden pain. Danzig was making his intentions clear: revenge for being slutted by the black marketers. Never mind that the shark mutant had gotten his people mixed up. _Now there are two of us out here not thinking clearly_. Adrenaline flooded into Jesse, driving his mind into full throttle.

Good thing, too. Good timing. Danzig was coming in for a pre-emptory strike, aimed right at Jesse's briefs, teeth open and gleaming and hungry. And thoroughly pissed. Aiming for revenge for being slutted. With _very_ good aim.

"Shit!" Jesse yelled, and massed.

Power of a shark's jaw versus diamond hard density. It was a near thing.

Jesse won; Danzig pulled away, cracked shark teeth floating down through the water between them, snarling.

But it didn't matter. Jesse had won the bout and lost the battle. His heavy density state had the buoyancy of concrete. He sank.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Get this man to my clinic immediately! Are you a complete, blithering idiot, bringing him here in this condition?"

Through the fog in his headBrennan could hear an angry voice. It wasn't shouting but it was pissed as hell—and female. Not too many female voices on this rock. Wasn't Shalimar. Brennan got the feeling that he should recognize the owner of the voice, that he had heard it somewhere, and recently.

"Not a chance." This time it was Caruthers. Cold and calculating and in charge. Should have known that it was Caruthers in charge of the local black market. Seemed the type. Too bad Brennan made the discovery too late. Sooner would have been better; say, like before getting shot. "This man is an electrical elemental. We need him for defense."

"As I told you before, he doesn't have enough power to do more than give the sharkies a tingle. Don't you listen, Caruthers?"

"That's not what the sharkies say, _doctor._" Caruthers went heavy on the sarcasm. "They're petrified of him. Which is a damn good thing right now, or haven't you noticed the base going up in flames? Bayliss is looking to haul my ass in, and believe me, if he catches me you're going down, too. How else would I have known about slutting the sharkies?"

Brennan forced his eyes open. Morrison was confronting Caruthers in front of him in the cave, their outlines indistinct in the dusk. There was no mistaking the anger radiating from each one. Morrison's arms were waving, and Caruthers looked about ready to deck her.

"Listen, Caruthers." Morrison kept her voice low and deadly. "You either get that man to my clinic, or he will die within the hour. Look at him! He's burning up with fever! Don't you even have a blanket to throw over him?"

"We're a little busy right now to be thinking of tucking a damn mutant into beddy-bye," Caruthers growled. "Do what you have to do, but keep him alive and out of Bayliss's hands. We lose Shark Stick Guy, and the sharkies will wipe us out. Which means that you won't get to spend that lovely Swiss bank account, doctor."

_Ah_, thought Brennan, another piece of the puzzle drops into place. _No wonder Morrison didn't tell Adam about the slutting until she had to._ _Nice little income on the side, I see_. _Wish I'd found out sooner. Little late now. One hour till I croak, you said, doctor? Let's see if I can prove you wrong._ Brennan tried to roll over, to ease the ache in his back. It didn't work. _Okay, sixty-one minutes will be enough to prove you wrong. I'll settle for that. Adam, Shalimar, Jesse, where are you? Could really use a hand right about now. Got some information that you'll want. Come and get it_.

"I can handle Bayliss," Morrison insisted, "and I can handle Adam Kane. But we'll lose everything if this mutant dies. We'll lose control of the sharks."

"No, we—dammit, what are you—?"

A struggle. Brennan could barely see it in the dark. Morrison went for Caruthers' gun but too slow. Despite being out of shape, Caruthers was still a trained military man. He grabbed Morrison's wrist, nearly crushing it, and back-handed the woman into a heap on the floor. She cried out as she collapsed.

"Perry! George!" Caruthers called two black marketers over. "Tie her up. Dr. Morrison has just decided which side she's on, and it isn't ours." He glanced over at Brennan.

_Wish I had enough electrons to rub together_.

"Put her next to the mutie. She's so worried about him, she can watch him breathe here in the cave. And give him some water," Caruthers added irritably. "Don't want him dying on us. I have a use for him."


	13. Shark 13

"Emma? Thank heaven you got my message. Where are you?"

"I'm already in the Helix, Adam. I got your call a few minutes ago and took off immediately. What's the situation?"

_More important_: "How long before you reach my location?"

Emma consulted the GPS. "Two hours, maybe a little less."

Adam swore. "Not fast enough. Push it, Emma. I've lost Brennan and Jesse, and we need help _now_." He thought a moment. "Can you link the Helix's computers into the ones on this boat?"

"A _boat_? Adam, I have trouble linking the Helix to Sanctuary's computers, never mind a small computer in a boat—"

"Never mind. I'll talk you through it. I need to upgrade this boat's search capabilities, and fast. Jesse is lost somewhere in the ocean."

Emma closed her eyes, and quickly re-opened them. "Just tell me what to do, Adam."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the top of the cave, right above the entrance, was child's play for Shalimar Fox. There was an armed guard in front to keep out unwanted visitors; Shalimar took him out with one practiced swipe. _Not in the mood to dally, buster_. She slipped inside, eyes adjusting swiftly to the gloom of dusk made darker by the interior of the cave. She saw several things: she saw her teammate, flat on the ground. He didn't look good. Shalimar resolved to help him look a lot better very soon. _Hang in there, Brennan. Help is on the way_. And she also saw Dr. Morrison next to her teammate, tied up. And last: twenty or more black marketers, all armed and waiting for shark mutants. _Surprise, surprise, guys_.

Another guard was a little brighter than the rest. "Hey, people! I saw something move out there!"

"Must be the sharkies," Caruthers growled. "Get the electrical mutie. We're gonna need him."

Whatever the situation, Shalimar couldn't fault their training. Two of Caruthers' men hoisted Brennan to his feet, the mutant swaying in their grasp and kept upright only with their help. Caruthers himself held a shark stick. "Hold his arms out. I goose him with this, he'll spray electrons out there that'll knock 'em all flat on their asses. Get ready to pair off," he added. "We'll slut the whole crowd of them, make a real killing on the market. Teach _them_ to come after us."

Shalimar felt the gorge rising in her throat. These men were vile! Removing them from the realms of the living would improve the human race by several notches no matter what their gene structure.

But there were too many weapons in too many hands for her to grab Brennan. She had to wait…wait…

Of all things, it was Morrison who broke the stalemate. Tied up, gagged, but not helpless. As the two men hoisted Brennan up, she lashed out with her feet, striking one on the knee. He yelped and twisted. Another guard jumped up to help. But when he did so, he came out from behind his cover.

A shot rang out. The uncovered guard spun around and collapsed, screaming, his hand clutching his shoulder trying to keep the blood from pouring out. Caruther's men fired back.

"That's it! That's it!" Caruthers yelled. "The sharkies are here! Get the mutie into position!" The two guards holding Brennan hustled the elemental to the entrance of the cave, propping him upright with his hands in front of him. Brennan tried feebly to resist; it was futile.

"Take a dive, sharkies!" Caruthers screeched, and jammed the shark stick into Brennan's ribs.

Breathing was out of the question. Vision too was superfluous. Brennan's world dissolved into a sheer hell of agony, and he dimly felt sparks flying out of his fingertips into the night. _Silver lining: my ass doesn't hurt nearly as much as this_. _Is it time to pass out yet?_

But the shooting didn't stop. Shark mutant bodies didn't flop to the ground. "What the hell—?" Caruthers yelled, shocked. "Why aren't they hitting the dirt?"

Shalimar stepped out from behind. "Because they're not shark mutants," she told him sweetly, "just regular joes that are honorable members of the armed forces. The good guys." She grabbedCaruthers' arm, pulling the shark stick away from Brennan and, incidentally, breaking it—the arm, not the shark stick. Caruthers screamed with the sudden agony and sank to the floor of the cave. Brennan, released by his guards, just sank. "Orgy's over, slime. You're finished."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Got 'im, boss. Damn, he's cold. And kinda' blue."

"Exposure. He doesn't have our type of skin. Lubber, remember? He breathing?"

"Yeah, but not too well. Think we can do CPR with these teeth?"

"Don't really want to find out, Warren. Get your ass in gear and haul him in. The doc's not gonna be in any hurry to fix up that ointment that will turn you back into SuperStud with the ladies, Warren, if you let his man die. Move your tail."


	14. Epilog

"Thanks, but I think getting Brennan and Jesse back to Sanctuary is a better idea," Adam said, eying the readings nervously and adjusting the oxygen mask over Jesse's face. The box over the molecular's head beeped and traced a green line along a very old looking heart monitor, and Adam bumped into a pole dangling sterile intravenous fluids, unable to move in the crowded space of the clinic/lab and even more so with all the people crammed into the small room. Jesse coughed and wheezed from stretcher number one, and Emma held a cool glass to his lips to ease away the cough, worrying over the pale color in his face. Adam tucked a stethoscope back into his pocket and frowned. "You don't really have enough equipment here, Martha. I don't know how you've managed before this. I've already used up two thirds of your supply of antibiotics and we've been here all of three days. And let's face it, the scanning equipment you use won't help with non-ferals." He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the fifth mutant in the clinic. "You're not going to try to keep me here, are you, lieutenant? Excuse me—_colonel_."

The newly minted colonel smiled broadly, several rows of shark teeth gleaming in the sunlight. "Not as long as you promise to send the formula for that skin ointment to Dr. Morrison. I've got a wife at home who's eagerly planning to redecorate the officer's quarters as soon as she gets here. And the officer's club. And whatever else she can get her hands on. And—thanks. For everything." Vanderworthy waved at the epaulets that had been hastily sewn onto his jacket.

"What's the use in having powerful friends if you can't call in a favor now and again?" Adam peeled back Brennan's eyelid; the elemental groaned, all self-control stolen by the powerful opiates that took away his pain. Shalimar stroked his forehead with relief now that the man's fever was down. It would be back, she knew, but by then they'd be home in Sanctuary where proper treatment would be available. Shalimar didn't want to remember that horrible trip down the mountain, Brennan slung between the brawny shoulders of two soldiers, dripping blood down his pants and struggling to stay conscious. Walking was not going to be in the man's future for the next several days. Brennan turned unconsciously at her touch, seeking comfort in her hands.

Adam sympathized with Shalimar; he'd had more than a few bad moments himself watching the shark mutants man-handle Jesse's limp form onto the boat. It had taken only seconds to discern that the molecular's heart was still beating—although slowly—and that air was still moving in and out of water-logged lungs. Pneumonia, however, was a very real concern as was hypothermia, and he really didn't like the way that the oxygen was rasping through a sore trachea. _Emma and Shalimar can pilot the Helix back_, he decided. _Me, I'm going to keep a few tubes within arm's reach in case someone decides to stop breathing. Tubes for _both_ my patients._ He grabbed another blanket, handing it to Emma with mute instructions to tuck it around the patient.

"I can't think of a better man to have in charge of this base," Adam continued, adding something to Jesse's intravenous line. "Actually, I can't think of any _man_ who could run this place. You said they're sending out more troops? More volunteers?"

"Got the room," Vanderworthy said. "My men—my water squadron," he amended, "has decided that an underwater barracks is more to their liking." _Wish I could join 'em,_ went unsaid. "And with Dr. Morrison here to continue research as well as provide for our more, ah, basic needs," he coughed, "I should be able to turn this place around. The Powers That Be are already sending memos about upcoming missions that we should be able to make a difference in."

Morrison smiled sheepishly. "I can't believe I didn't see that answer to the skin problem," she muttered, a blush stealing over her face. "You have my apologies, colonel." _For everything_, was her unspoken part of the discussion.

"Water under the bridge," Colonel Vanderworthy said graciously, "and back in the ocean where it belongs. I wish you'd confided in me, doctor," he added. "I needed some facts to work with. If I'd known that the black market peoplewere forcing you to cooperate, I could have resolved this particular problem a long time ago. It might not have come to this, even though it seems to have worked out. Assaulting us, blackmailing you…"

"We're lucky that you acted when you did, Dr. Morrison," Shalimar put in. "Your distracting of that guard allowed the soldiers to shoot. Without that, I never would have been able to rescue you and Brennan." She slid the hair back off Brennan's forehead, noting with dismay how hot the man's skin still was. Damn shark mutant Danzig. Damn _crazy_ shark mutant Danzig. It had been established that Danzig was the sniper, once they knew what to look for. Danzig hadn't been seen since terrorizing Jesse in the middle of the ocean but Shalimar had intercepted several looks between Warren and Blue. And the electric fence was down. Shark mutants were free to go where ever they pleased. Anywhere in the ocean. _More than one way to go AWOL_. Another thought occurred to her: "Blackmail? Over what?"

Morrison colored. "That was a long time ago."

"Martha, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Adam told her. "You did what you had to do."

"That's easy for you to say, Adam. You were always the brightest of us all. Everyone fell over themselves offering you scholarships and grants."

Emma couldn't stand the suspense. "What did you do, Dr. Morrison?"

The geneticist's blush grew hotter.

The side of Adam's mouth quirked upward. "It's really not that bad, Martha." He turned to Emma. "She danced in the local bar. She was really good at it, too. A couple of us sneaked in one night to watch."

"Adam!" Morrison wailed. "Do you know what this will do to my reputation?"

"Martha, your reputation is that of a highly regarded researcher. Your dancing days were more than two decades ago."

"But this is the military!" Morrison was not appeased. "You know how stodgy they can be."

"Don't worry, Dr. Morrison. Your secret is safe with me." Colonel Vanderworthy's eyes gleamed. "In fact, I think that a highly abbreviated report of this whole affair is the only thing that will be committed to paper." He winked. "There won't be enough room for extraneous details, doctor. That good enough?"

She sighed in relief. "Good enough to produce a whole barrel of skin ointment, colonel."

"Good. And now that we've got that settled—Sergeant Tyler?" Vanderworthy called. Someone else had benefited from this affair. The blue shark mutant straightened up after a beat, still not used to his new rank. "Detail some men for the stretchers. Dr. Kane's transportation is here and waiting, and we'll need some muscle to tote these people to the air strip."

"Yes, sir." Blue grinned. He flicked a glance over the two mutants. "Suspect getting some grunts impervious to electricity for Mulwray would be a good idea, sir."

"Oh, yeah."

"I can walk," Jesse grumbled through his oxygen mask. He struggled to sit up.

Emma knocked him flat with a push of a single finger. "Lie there and take it, Jesse."

But the action had jarred loose another spate of coughing. Emma held him securely, offering him soothing water, until the coughing—and the gasping—stopped. Jesse groaned, closing his eyes in surrender.

"Or not."


End file.
